


Home Is Relative

by jsymo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Belly Rubs, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Caretaker Sam, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Dean, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mute Dean, Muteness, Older Sam, Panty Kink, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Sam is awesome, Schmoop, School Dances, Suicide Attempt, Unrelated Winchesters, Virgin Dean, Younger Dean, car kink, teeth-rotting-sweetness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 108,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsymo/pseuds/jsymo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when it becomes Sam's turn to take care of Dean for once?</p><p>In this AU Sam and Dean are unrelated new neighbors. Dean is a socially awkward teen who has recently suffered a traumatic event that leaves him closed off to new people, and Sam is the charismatic boy-next-door who helps Dean through the hard times. They face many challenges together as their relationship grows and Sam proves to Dean that home can be found wherever you are, so long as the right person is beside you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boys and Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I should have probably added in some notes earlier (whoops!) But anyways, there are some important things to know about this fic, for one, Dean is younger than Sam in this story; Dean is 16 and Sam is 18. The boys are also unrelated, and I have more of this story up at samdean.archive.nu under the same Title and username as this site if you want to read more of it. I will always update that site first and then this one when I get the chance to. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dean was relaxed up against the arm of the loveseat that had been shoved up against the large picture window in the front room of their new house. He was reading through a car magazine, sighing with envy at all of the waxed up classic cars that may have left him a little hard with just how damn sexy they looked. 

His mom was yammering on the phone in the kitchen, holding a knife as she cut through the tape on the cardboard boxes labeled ‘Kitchen’, talking to his aunt.

“It’s just a lovely little neighborhood, closer to Michael’s work, I just love it,” he heard the slick tearing of the plastic tape as she ran the knife down the seam. “You know how our last neighborhood was one of those new construction ones? All the houses looked the same. God. Even the _mailboxes_! It’s just so lovely here, all of the mature trees, houses that actually look different from one another,” there was another pause and Dean could imagine as his mother’s curled light blonde hair swung about her shoulders as she shook her head. “I just love it here.”

Dean’s face broke into a half smile. He loved hearing how much his mother loved this new place. And she was right; this was a really different neighborhood than the one Dean had grown up in. It was really nice, but, it wasn’t home. 

He shifted and stretched out his right arm. It was covered in a cast, the bone had been pretty badly shattered in an accident that required pins to hold the bones in place so that they could heal properly and if he didn’t move it around every so often and get the blood flowing the appendage would lose circulation and throb painfully until the blood started flowing again.

He sighed as he lifted his arm and looked out the window in time to see a fairly new car pull into the driveway across the street. It stopped about halfway up the drive, parking in the shade of a tree in the front yard and Dean watched as the driver’s side door popped open and long legs were stuck out. 

The driver paused, for whatever reason, so he only had time to admire the calves of the car’s owner. It was quite a distance away, but Dean could see lean, muscled calves with a smattering of dark hair, ending with feet encased in some high end running shoes. 

Dean was content to watch and wait for the leg’s owner to get out the rest of the way, but he didn’t have to wait long. Pretty soon those legs were moving as the rest of the body made its way out of the driver’s seat. 

The young man was tall, with dark brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, he was wearing khaki shorts that fit snug around his thighs and was wearing an equally tight button down blue plaid t-shirt. Dean immediately appreciated the dark aviator sunglasses the guy was wearing, because, hey, hot guy in sunglasses.

He drew his body from the car and then threw one of his arms over the top of the car, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

He was talking to someone on the phone that he clearly liked. Dean watched as the youth mutedly laughed and the conversation wore on, dimpled smile after dimpled smile was pulled from him, and every time Dean saw those dimples his smile got wider. 

Here was a well-adjusted kid. Surely he was normal, Dean thought. I mean you’ve got the nice neighborhood, good school district, decent car, good looks, brand name clothing. And someone in your life who makes you feel good about yourself. 

Must be nice.

Dean frowned and was about to go back to reading his magazine when the guy across the street started moving and suddenly Dean’s eyes were brought right back to the driveway and its single occupant. 

The guy pushed away from the car as he nodded his head and ended his phone call, he closed the driver’s door and popped the trunk. Dean watched as the guy reached into the trunk and pulled out a back-pack and a text book that he fit into the crook of his arm before walking up to the house. The leaves on the tree blocked Dean’s line of sight and forced him back into his front living room.

The back-pack and text book was confusing. It was mid-July! What was this guy doing with school things?

Dean sighed and settled himself further onto the couch, flipping the page of his car magazine and looking at a beautifully restored 1955 Chevy Bel-Air. White and Turquoise blue. The refinished leather seats a stunning beach-sand tan. 

His thoughts quickly went from boys to cars.

*****

The next day was much of the same. Dean was sitting on the couch in the living room again while his mom unpacked. He would have helped his mom if he could, but he had been yelled at every time he made a move to pick up a box, even if it was light, and even if he was doing so with his left hand. 

He was content with it though. He only had two months of quiet ahead of him before school would start up again and Dean wanted to soak up every minute of peaceful silence that he had coming to him.

His mom had other ideas though. 

“Honey, are you just going to sit on that couch all day?” 

Dean looked up to see his mom holding a half empty box against one of her hips. 

_Such a mom thing_. Dean thought to himself. He never understood why women who had had children always seemed to hold things with their hips. It was like their hips were their third and fourth arms or something. 

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice sounded unsure.

“Why don’t you go outside? There’s a really nice park a few blocks from here. It has a walking path around it. Why don’t you go for a walk?” It _sounded_ like a suggestion. But Dean wasn’t that stupid to think that his mom wasn’t trying to tell him to do something.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean pathetically attempted to return to his magazine.

The glossy pages were ripped from his fingers and his mother lovingly looked down at him. “Dean.”

He looked straight up into her concerned eyes, “I can’t get sweaty, the doctor said --,” he started arguing. 

“Yeah, and what did the other doctor say?” 

At that Dean sighed and looked down to his empty fingers. 

They were arguing over two totally different things here. Dean was siding with his medical doctor who warned him about overheating himself and ending up with a stinky sweaty cast that he couldn’t clean. 

His mom was arguing with the therapist Dean had left behind, encouraging Dean to get out more. Try new things. Meet _people_. 

Dean internally shuddered at that thought. Nothing good had ever come from meeting people. He was perfectly happy just hiding in the house until he was forced to go to school on September 1st. Why didn’t his mom get that?

“One hour. That’s all I’m asking, Dean,” her tone was soft and he had to look up at her. He could see the concern on her face.

“It isn’t that far away honey, and it’s the middle of the day. Take your phone with. Walk down to the park. Walk around it once. And sit on the bench and people watch. I’m not asking you to interact with anyone. Okay?”

Dean felt his throat getting dry at all of her suggestions. 

“You do all of that and make it the full hour and I’ll pick you up in the car and we’ll go for ice cream,” she negotiated.

Dean laughed at that and looked back down at his lap.

“So now I’m a five year old who needs an incentive to behave?” he meant for it to sound like a joke, but he only succeeded in sounding sad.

“No,” he listened as his mom put down the box and knelt next to the couch. She ran her hand through his hair in a way that was meant to reassure and comfort. “You’re a scared sixteen year old who needs to know that he’s okay to walk to the park on his own.” 

He tried hard not to cry. That was something he was working on lately.

“I know you’re scared sweetheart.”

 _Oh. So we’re onto sweetheart now_?

“How about half an hour?” her voice was whispering now to keep Dean calm. 

What had happened to Dean’s life where his mother had to beg to get him to leave the house for any amount of time. 

His gaze shifted to his cast. _Oh yeah_. Dean remembered. _That’s what happened_. 

He took in a steady breath and looked at his mom. “Okay, half an hour. And I want two scoops.”  
*****

I can do this. Dean thought to himself as he walked around the path at the park. _Just going for a walk_. He told himself. _No one is going to hurt you_.

He forced himself to go through some relaxing breathing exercises his therapist had taught him and resolved to sit down at the next bench he came across. 

It helped that the park really was a relaxing place. He could hear the shouts of elementary aged children as they ran around the grassy area of the walking path he was on. He closed his eyes briefly and focused on the squeaking sound made as the metal on metal of the swing set from the play-ground sounded off in the distance. One of the owners to a house that budded up to the park was mowing his lawn, and other various typical suburban noises resounded about the park. 

He could totally do this. Just breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe – 

“Hey.”

Dean’s eyes jerked open and his entire body flinched in response at the voice that perked up right in front of him. His eyes opened to the sight of a runner, a girl, before him. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she smiled. “Just wondering if I could use the bench for some stretches?”

“Oh, yeah of course,” Dean slid over to one side and allowed the girl the use of the other half of the bench. 

She propped her legs up on the seat of the bench, one at a time, and used the height to stretch her legs out; she had to have been about Dean’s age. Only maybe a year or two older. Platinum blonde hair was pulled into a high pony tail, and her high cheek bones made her face seem so small and capable of wide genuine smiles. 

Dean would have liked her. Would have even tried talking to her, but he didn’t talk to people anymore. 

Dean was worried she might start making small talk when her stretching went on for a few minutes longer than Dean had expected, but the girl had remained quiet the entire time and Dean was able to get back into his relaxing breathing exercises. 

She smiled and waved at him as she bounced away to start her run. 

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked the time. _Ten more minutes_. He told himself. _I can sit on the bench for ten more minutes_.

He kept his eyes closed and his breathing trained just like his therapist had instructed him. Two counts in. Two counts out. All until his mom found him on the bench and wrapped a supportive arm around him. After a moment of panic Dean responded by folding himself into his mother’s side. 

She pulled his head down toward hers and pressed a kiss to his temple and when she had suggested they go out for ice cream like planned he could only jerk his head to decline.

He’d had enough of being out of the house for the day. 

*****

After making Dean leave the house that one day his mom didn’t force the issue again. He spent the rest of the night curled up in blankets on the couch, not even looking at the magazine that had been left on the coffee table from that morning. 

Dean’s mother was at a loss of what to do. Dean wouldn’t get better if he didn’t try to go outside and interact with people, but every time she tried making him go out it ended the same. Her terrified son curled in on himself, wrapped around a pillow or a blanket, or even herself one time, and silent for the rest of the night; unresponsive to food, movies or any type of conversation. 

*****  
Dean was back to being content. To reading his car magazines, tinkering with engine parts that he kept in the garage and lounging on the couch in their living room.

His mother noticed after a week that her son had taken to sleeping on the couch by the front window, and that he was awake every time she and her husband woke up to go to work. She wanted to ask Dean why, but figured that if it made him comfortable that she wouldn’t draw attention to the behavior. 

What Dean’s mom didn’t know was that he had fallen asleep one night watching an old movie on the TV and woke up at five o’clock in the morning when the front lights of the house across the street were turned on and illuminated the living room. 

Dean didn’t know what had caused him to wake up at first, he clubbed himself in the face by accident when he went to go rub his eyes with his broken hand, he did that every morning. And then pushed himself up with his good arm. 

He caught moving shadows across the street and looked blearily out the window to see the young guy from the first day stretching at the end of the driveway. It was a warm summer, especially in the early morning when it was humid, and so the boy was wearing only a pair of running shorts. _Tight_ running shorts. 

The guy jumped up a few times to get his blood pumping, and Dean watched as the fabric of his shorts moved over his muscled thighs. He took off running shortly after that. 

Dean frowned. He had been enjoying a nice show until they guy left. 

An hour and a half later tight shorts guy was running back from the way he came. Except now the sun had raised enough for Dean to see the tan muscle of tight shorts guy’s chest and back. His shorts were soaked through with sweat, and when the guy unexpectedly bent over to touch his toes, exposing _just how tight_ those shorts could get when strained across his ass, Dean groaned and ran for the bathroom. 

He had stuck to the schedule ever since. There was an alarm set on his phone for quarter to five, so he could wake up and wipe the blurriness from his eyes before the guy came outside. Dean would kneel on the couch cushions and lean his chest against the back, arms folded and chin rested on forearms as he watched, day after day, as his neighbor across the street stretched before his morning run.

Dean was well aware that it was creepy behavior, but watching the guy made Dean feel so calm. What harm was there if it made Dean feel good? Okay. Yeah, that does sound kind of homicidal stalkerish, he had to admit to himself. 

But since Dean had no plans on kidnapping or killing his neighbor, his neighbor whom he had yet to actually meet, he figured it was okay.  
It was early one Friday morning, which was garbage day in their subdivision, and since Dean was awake in the living room his mom figured she would put him to work. She had Dean drag the garbage cans to the end of the driveway; he had to make a few trips to bring out all of the cardboard boxes that had been emptied throughout the week as they slowly unpacked.

The sun had come up, and Dean had already finished with his morning stalker activities. He was preoccupied breaking down a few of the cardboard boxes so they fit in the recycling bin better when he heard a scraping noise erupt from behind him. 

He looked over his shoulder to catch as his neighbor – who he ogled every morning – pulling his own set of trash cans to the end of the driveway.

Dean looked back around and down to where he was using a foot to flatten out a cardboard box. Even if he could quickly stomp this one flat he had a good dozen more after that, he wouldn’t be able to run back into the house for a good reason. He just had to hope that he was left alone.

“Hey, how’s it goin?”

No such luck.

Dean’s shoulders tensed, maybe if he ignored the greeting the kid would think he didn’t hear him and walk away.

His heartbeat flooded his hearing, but Dean could still hear as shoes hit the asphalt as they crossed the street. 

The guy broke Dean’s field of vision, no hope ignoring him now.

“Hey, how’s it going?” the guy repeated a little clearer this time. 

Dean kept his eyes averted to the already flat cardboard box and just kept tamping down with his boot as if he was accomplishing something. 

“Uh – Uh’m, I’m – good. Good.” Yeah, that was smooth.

Dean felt like a bit of an ass ignoring the guy in front of him, so he sucked in a deep breath and looked up, right into concerned hazel eyes. 

The guy was a good couple of inches taller than Dean was, he had thrown a light t-shirt over his sweaty chest, dark streaks where the sweat soaked through were visible, especially around his pecks and under his arms. His hair was still pulled into a messy sweaty pony tail; he always wore it up from what Dean could tell. 

Dean could feel his awkward and odd behavior, and it snapped at him like a chubby naked guy was standing in the driveway with the two of them, yelling at Dean to stop acting so goddamn weird. He felt himself snap out of it and try to act like he had some semblance of normalcy in him. 

“Dean,” Dean struck out his hand, proud of how calm and solid his voice sounded in comparison to his initial stammering.

The guy before him smiled and took his hand, “Sam.”

Dean smiled, he had a name now.

Sam looked down and frowned when he caught sight of Dean’s casted right arm. 

“Here, let me help you with these boxes,” Sam offered even as he grabbed at the one Dean was still half standing on.

“No, that’s okay, you don’t have to,” Dean felt his forced sense of calm starting to deteriorate. He would have been okay with just the short greeting, but the idea of Sam lingering was really starting to freak him out. He felt his breathing increase.

“S’what happened to your arm?” Sam asked casually enough, not realizing what it did to Dean’s psyche.

Dean looked down at his arm. The pain, and memories of how he broke it flooding his system and he couldn’t help but realize that it was still half-dark outside, that he was alone, that there was no one around him. Just Sam. 

If his breathing was bad before then all of his thinking just exacerbated the problem. Dean doubled over, hands on his knees and he unsuccessfully tried swallowing air. He was having a panic attack and he couldn’t remember his breathing exercises.

“Shit Dean! Are you okay?”

Dean felt Sam approach him and wouldn’t have been able to stop him from making his second mistake – or was it his third – of the morning even if Dean tried, not that he could blame Sam, the guy didn’t know that Dean was screwed up. 

Sam’s hands landed on Dean’s shoulders and just like that the tension in Dean snapped.

He got out one good dry heave of nothing before he collapsed and blacked out from fear and lack of oxygen right onto the hard ground of his driveway.

Dean came to only a few short moments later. He was still on the driveway from what he could tell, but his head was wrapped in something soft and warm. 

“Dean!” 

His eyes opened when he heard his mother shrieking his name, but frowned when he got a sight of grey fabric covering his face.

He could hear the scurried and frantic sound of his mother running down the driveway and felt as she placed hands on his chest and head, removing the fabric from his face.

“Dean, what happened?”

“He hyperventilated and passed out, hit his head on the driveway,” Sam supplied.

Dean’s mother regarded Sam for a moment. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Not as kind as she normally would have been, but Dean’s well-being pretty much trumped everything in Mary Campbell’s eyes. 

“Sam, I live across the street.”

Threat eliminated Mary looked down at her son again, “Dean, sweetheart, your head is bleeding.”

“M’okay mom,” Dean tried sitting up. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment from passing out in front of a virtual stranger.

“Hold on honey, don’t go moving so soon,” Mary wadded up the grey fabric in her hand and pressed it to Dean’s forehead as he continued to struggle into a sitting position. When he wavered a bit he reached his hand out and it came in contact with warm sweaty skin. 

He glanced at Sam who was now shirtless; answering Dean’s question of where the fabric had come from, it was Sam’s sweaty shirt!

“Couch,” Dean mumbled. He just wanted out of this embarrassing situation and wanted the opportunity to sleep.

“Here, let me help,” Sam stood up and reached to help lift Dean up. 

Even though she was entirely positive that Sam had unknowingly caused Dean’s reaction Mary allowed the young man to help bring her son into the house. She wasn’t likely to get Dean in there on her own, and she wanted someone to prove to Dean that not everyone he met should be seen as a threat.

Dean was vaguely aware of the fact that he was leaning heavily on the sweaty chest that he stared at every morning, but he was too tired at that point to think more on the subject.

“Here Sam, just set him on the couch,” Mary led the boys into the living room and Sam lowered Dean onto his nest of blankets.

Sam stepped back and watched as Dean’s mother pulled several layers of blankets over him. Dean wrapped himself up tight and kept his eyes closed.

Dean didn’t want to look at the pitiful looks he was no doubt getting from Sam, and he listened as Dean’s mom walked away and quickly returned. He opened his mouth, knowing she had gone and got one of his anxiety pills. The ones he didn’t think he needed anymore. 

She popped the pill onto his tongue and swallowed it dry, ignoring the water she had brought with. 

He feigned immediate sleep. He didn’t want to talk or answer any questions. Right now he just wanted to be left alone.

Dean listened as his mother brought Sam to the front door quietly, and was fortunate enough that they only stepped out the front door a few steps so that he was able to hear their conversation, even if only barely.

“I’m so sorry that I was kind of rude to you earlier,” he heard his mother begin.

“Its fine,” Sam cut in, “I was worried about Dean myself.”

His mother sighed. _Here it is_. Dean thought. He loved his mother dearly, but he knew that her nature meant that she enjoyed talking to people, sometimes sharing things she shouldn’t.

“Dean’s been having a bit of a hard time lately,” she admitted sadly.

“Yeah, new house, not really a fun thing for anyone.”

“Well, it’s not just that,” Mary was saying, and _oh God_ , she wasn’t going to _tell him_ was she?

He heard her full bodied sigh, “anyways, thank you so much Sam for helping me with Dean, you seem like a wonderful young man, and I hope I have the chance to talk to you again.”

Sam chuckled, and Dean is pretty sure it was the most incredible sound he had ever heard. “Maybe under better circumstances, give Dean my best.”

“I will thank you.”

With that Dean could hear his mother coming back into the house, so he just curled up tighter in the blankets and resolved to sleep for the rest of the day. 

*****  
The rest of the day only lasted until his mom returned home from work. She decided to put him to work in the kitchen, having him pat out five round discs for hamburgers on the grill. It was an ambitious number, considering that it required Dean’s dad Michael to be in attendance to eat two, and required Dean to have an appetite that made him eat more than a couple bites of his first burger. 

However, when the front door bell rang Dean discovered why his mom had Dean make so many burgers.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so glad you could make it!” He heard his mother calling out.

“Thanks for the invite,” Sam said back, causing Dean to freeze.

Was his mom trying to kill him? Sure, he usually only felt nervous when he left the house, but he wasn’t sure how he would handle his mom bringing someone in the house, the one place where Dean felt any sort of comfort.

“Come on in Sam, Dean’s in the kitchen making some burgers for the grill.”

Dean resolved to pick up each burger and pat them into perfect circles to avoid turning around and greeting Sam.

“Hey man, how you feelin’?” Sam came up to Dean but remained a few steps away this time. 

“M’fine,” Dean’s voice was broken and quiet.

“Those burgers ready? I can give you a hand with them,” Sam offered.

“Sure,” Dean kept his head down and slid the tray over to Sam who promptly picked it up.

“Lead the way to the grill.”

Dean took Sam out to the deck off of the kitchen and turned the grill on for him, he still hadn’t made any eye contact, even as he handed the spatula over so that Sam could commandeer the grilling of the burgers. 

Sam wasn’t about to let Dean’s behavior keep him from his own good mood.

“So how’s your head feeling? You’re being pretty quiet; you wanna go lay down or something?” Sam was speaking so casually, but Dean would have been stupid if he thought he didn’t hear the concern in his voice.

“It’s okay,” Dean was concerned with counting the number of nails holding down the deck boards.

“You feeling okay?” Sam pushed.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t asking; just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Now Dean felt like an ass, again. He looked up to Sam and saw the smile reaching his hazel eyes. 

Sam looked over to catch Dean’s green eyes before the kid inevitably looked away again. “Who bandaged you up?” he asked.

Dean’s broken arm reached up and felt the gauze and tape he had pressed to the small but persistent cut on his forehead. “I did.”

Sam nodded and looked back to the grill. “How do you guys like your burgers?”

Dean was forced to take a step closer to Sam in order to look at the burgers he was supposed to be cooking. “That’ll be fine,” he rushed out before instantly taking three steps back from Sam and the grill. 

Fortunately for Dean his mother had finally finished making the side dishes and was walking outside to their picnic table and setting out the plates and forks. It gave Dean an out.

“Here mom, let me help with that,” he came over and started setting things out on the table. 

His mom frowned when she saw Sam at the grill, but didn’t say anything about making their guest do any cooking. In fact neither she nor Sam seemed surprised by Dean’s behavior. He was starting to think that they were in cahoots. 

“Sam, what would you like to drink?” Mary said as Sam approached with the plate of burgers.

“Water’s fine,” he set the tray down and Dean immediately excused himself to go get the drinks for them.

Once alone in the kitchen Dean propped himself against the counter and took a few moments to go through his breathing exercises. After that he quickly filled up three glasses with water and went back outside.

Sam and his mom had serious looks on their face, until Dean got closer, when they both noticed him approaching they looked at him and smiled. 

“Dean are you in the mood for a burger?” his mom asked nicely as he set down the drinks and sat on the bench. 

“Yeah,” he lied.

His mom made up a burger for Dean and put a large helping of pasta-salad on his plate. Sam was helpful in moving plates around and soon the three of them were eating. 

Mary and Sam were dominating the conversation, but that didn’t keep Sam from glancing at Dean every once in a while. A kind smile on his face to let Dean know that though he wasn’t talking he was still very much a part of the group.

Mary tried unsuccessfully a few times to bring Dean into the conversation, he only supplied grunts or one word answers when necessary, and for the most part just slowly ate his way through a third of the tri-colored pasta on his plate.

Dean was rabbit-nibbling on his burger when the topic shifted to an area of Dean’s interest.

“I run cross-country for school,” Sam was saying, and Dean was forced into backtracking to remember that his mom had asked Sam if there were any sports that he was involved in at school. 

“I go running every morning anyway, and so last year the coach asked me to join. It’s a small team, so they can use everyone they can get,” Sam was eating his second burger as hungrily as his first.

“Oh really?” his mom looked at him, “Dean, did you hear that? Sam’s a runner.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you into running?” Sam asked looking at Dean and smiling.

Dean nodded as his mom answered for him.

“He was in track and cross-country at his last school,” she was talking happily while reaching for her drink, “I put Dean in track as soon as I could because he always had too much energy for his own good.” She paused and sucked on her straw. “Figured if he was going to run around the classroom and the backyard like an energetic crack head then I might as well give him an outlet for it.”

Dean laughed at that, which is exactly what his mom had been shooting for.

Sam looked at Dean and smiled; it was the first confident sound that he had heard come from Dean’s mouth. 

“You going to join the team this year?”

Dean shrugged, still looking at his plate. “Not sure.”

“Well if you don’t I would love to have a running buddy, maybe you could join me some morning?” Sam didn’t back down easily, Dean had to give him credit for not giving up on breaking through Dean’s stubborn ass.

He raised his broken arm, “can’t.”

“He can’t get his cast sweaty,” his mother supplied the additional information to Sam.

“Ah,” Sam bit into his burger and swallowed, “so that just a break or what? That cast is pretty thick.”

“He has some pins in it keeping the bones in place, in his hand – Dean bring your arm up here to show Sam,” his mother held her hand out expectantly and Dean placed his arm on the table for Sam to inspect.

“Right here,” his mother pointed to where the knuckles of his fist were, “he has some pins holding the finger bones in place while they set,” she indicated the plastic knobs sticking out of Dean’s cast. 

“Yeesh,” Sam brought his face closer to Dean’s arm and grimaced, “those’ll leave some pretty gnarly scars, eh Dean?”

Dean huffed, _oh you have no idea_.

“So how long ‘til the cast comes off?” Sam sat back in his seat and continued on his burger. 

“In about a month the pins’ll come out, then about a week after that the cast will be off and he’ll be in a wrist brace.”

Sam nodded and looked at Dean with a wide smile. “Five weeks, Dean. It’s a date.”

Dean choked on the noodles he had started swallowing.  
His mom hopped up and rushed over to whack Dean on the back as he sputtered out half-chewed noodles. 

“You okay sweetheart?” she asked as Dean’s choking stopped.

“Yeah, M’alright,” Dean waved his mom off and she sat back down at her spot to keep eating.

Sam didn’t seem fazed by Dean’s reaction to what he had said, and suddenly Dean had a sinking feeling in his stomach as if an ice cube had suddenly dropped into his guy. _Oh my god, she didn’t tell him did she_? 

The rest of dinner went by quickly. Sam was very friendly with Mary and Dean was doing better at looking at something other than the food he wasn’t eating on his plate. 

Before long they were saying their goodbyes and Sam was out the front door.

“He’s a very nice young man, I think you should make plans to hang out with him some time,” his mom commented while cleaning up the dishes.

Dean snorted, “yeah, because dinner went so well,” he moved to dry the dishes and put them away as she washed.

She shrugged, “I don’t think you did so bad. I figured you could invite him over to watch a movie or something.”

“Mom, I don’t think he’s going to be too fond of watching a movie with a fag.”

“Dean,” his mother admonished him.

“What? I’m just saying mom, when he finds out that I’m gay he’s really going to have no interest in ever seeing me again.”

“Dean, I really don’t think Sam is that narrow-minded,” She handed him a plate.

He sighed; his mom just didn’t get it. Not everyone was as okay with his sexual orientation as she was. 

“Promise me that you’ll at least consider it.”

“I’ll consider it,” Dean was lying. He was never going to ask Sam to come over and watch a movie with him. He wasn’t going to open himself up for that kind of rejection and ridicule.

*****  
Dean lasted all of two days before Sam was able to track him down. The boy was like a bloodhound, once he had Dean’s scent he was screwed, he had tried unsuccessfully a few times during the day when Dean was home alone to get in contact with him; ringing the front door and loping away when Dean didn’t answer. 

Sam wised up after a while and learned to come over when he was sure that his mom was home. 

“Dean, get the door!” his mom shouted from upstairs.

Dean scowled, he knew exactly who would be at the front door, and wasn’t surprised in the least when he looked out to the tall stance that was Sam on their front porch.

“Hey Dean! How’s it going?” Sam was smiling, wearing a tight blue tank top and equally tight khaki shorts. His hair was pulled into a pony tail, like always. 

“What’s with you and the tight clothing?” it’s out of Dean’s mouth before he can help it.

Sam has the decency to mock frown, “I think you just have a problem with it because you hide behind baggy clothes,” Sam brought his hand up to gesture to Dean’s pants which were, to be honest, a size larger than necessary on purpose.

Dean shrugged.

“So I was wondering if you wanted to come over?” Sam jerked his head back towards his house, “I’m kind of bored and I was wondering if you wanted to go swimming?”

“Like at a community pool or something?” Dean wasn’t sure he could handle being at a public pool just yet.

“No, we have a pool in our back yard,” Sam took a step closer and lowered his voice, “I’ll admit that I’m being kind of selfish here, I hate swimming by myself.”

Dean went to go decline when Sam took his only excuse out from under him.

“You don’t have to get in all the way; I know you can’t get your cast wet. We have chairs that you can float on if you want? I was just looking for someone to talk to,” Sam laughed, “or in your case someone to listen to me talk.”

That made Dean’s face break out into a small but involuntary smile. Despite his defensive personality Sam wasn’t taking no for an answer. He was going to hound Dean until he said yes to something. 

“Uhm,” Dean had to think this one out. Sam wasn’t too terribly intimidating. He was three or so inches above Dean and had about thirty pounds on him, that was the main reason Dean was so scared, because he knew that if it came down to it he wouldn’t be able to take Sam in any kind of physical altercation. 

He could hear his therapist at the back of his mind reminding him to stop thinking about people that way, Sam was a decent guy, he had to start off trusting someone. He figured Sam might be a good first try.

“Okay.”

Dean went upstairs to his barely used bedroom to change into a pair of shorts and stepped into a pair of flip flops before joining Sam outside.

The two walked across the street and around Sam’s house to the backyard. Sam led him up the stairs to the deck and removed his shirt while chatting freely with Dean. 

Sam turned around to shuck his shorts and Dean’s eyes went wide as he took in the sight of the clingy, low riding swim trunks that Sam had been wearing underneath of his shorts. 

He turned back around and Dean’s eyes immediately went toward the dark hair that proudly marched from Sam’s belly button lower into his trunks. 

Dean felt like he was blatantly staring and had to break his eyes away from Sam’s crotch before he was caught.

He didn’t think he was, Sam was stilling talking and reached up with both hands to remove his hair tie and run his hands through his hair.

Great.

Dean went from staring at the boy’s crotch to staring at the springy locks of hair being shaken around his head. Sam was still talking – did he ever stop? – and hadn’t noticed that Dean’s attention was _totally_ not on what he was saying.

Sam finally locked eyes with Dean and smiled, Dean didn’t know what to do so he smiled as well.

“I’m going to jump in, stand back so you don’t get wet.”

 _Too late_. Dean thought.

Sam turned, took a few quick steps and jumped into the pool.

Water went splashing everywhere and Dean was happy he hadn’t gone closer to the pool, otherwise his cast would be soaked.

Sam came to the surface and pushed the wet hair from his face before looking up at Dean on the deck and smiled. He grabbed a stray pool noodle and entwined himself around it, floating lazily as he started talking again. 

It took a while before Dean felt confident enough to get closer to the pool. Sam didn’t push him to get in or to even join the conversation as Sam talked easily, but he did smile when Dean finally toed out of his flip flops and sat down at the edge of the deck, sticking his feet in the water and swirling them around. 

Sam came within a few inches of Dean’s legs a few times as the water shooting out of the pool filter return created a slight current that pushed him around as he clung to the pool noodle. 

Sam was talking about anything and everything. Dean found out that Sam had grown up moving around a lot, “I was a Navy brat,” he said. His Dad was a Marine and the two had moved from military base to military base growing up.  
“I just got tired of being the new kid at school, and John didn’t understand why it upset me so much, we don’t get along too well,” Dean caught onto the fact that Sam never called his dad ‘Dad’, he called him by his first name. 

Dean might not have seen his father much because of his busy work schedule, but at least he didn’t call the man Michael. 

Dean found out that two years ago Sam had put his foot down, wanting to finish high school at the same school for once, and demanded that he leave his dad to live with his uncle Bobby and aunt Ellen.

“I had talked to them before I told John about the idea, they didn’t seem to mind. I get along real well with my uncle Bobby, and aunt Ellen seemed to really like the idea of having another kid in the house after my cousin Jo grew up and moved out. John wasn’t thrilled. We got into a heated argument and he left that night. He didn’t even drive me to the airport when I flew out here. He made up some excuse about having a meeting or some bullshit, but I know it was a lie.”

Dean could tell Sam was upset about this story with his dad, but he still said everything as if he was relating the weather to him. 

“So hey,” the change in Sam’s voice caused Dean to look up, “I couldn’t help but notice man, those car mags on the coffee table in the living room, those yours?”

Dean smirked. Damn Sam, found his kryptonite. Screwed up head or not, Dean would talk about cars until his face turned blue.

Dean started talking freely now, all on his own and mostly unprodded. Sam’s face broke into that dimpled smile that Dean hadn’t seen since the first time he had spied Sam through the front window.

Dean talked about every car related thought that had ever entered into his head. How he wanted to be a classic car mechanic when he was older, his favorite models of cars. How metal bodies on cars were better than the plastic cars were made out of nowadays. How a waxed up fully restored vintage car left him a little aroused…

Okay. Maybe that was a little much to admit, but when Dean said it and blushed as his brain finally caught up with what his mouth was blurting Sam only threw his head back and laughed. The sound put Dean back at ease and he continued on with his rambling.

After that it was pretty easy for Sam to get Dean talking, and eventually Dean started asking questions of his own.

“So what have you been doing all summer?”

“I’m taking summer classes at the local community college. I want to have a few college credits added up before the semester starts.”

“You’re in college? How old are you?” 

“Eighteen. And no, this’ll be my senior year in high school, but I want to double major in college so I figured I would start taking classes now to help balance the load out later.”

Dean was hanging out with an older guy, a _hot_ older guy. He smirked at himself before recomposing his features. 

“What do you want to major in?”

“American Literature and Anthropology.”

Dean whistled, “ambitious.”

“Not ambitious, just crazy.”

They both laughed.

“So what classes are you taking right now?”

“I’ve got three that I’m taking this summer. All English classes. I already finished the first, British and Colonial Lit., I’m in the second one now, it’s a survey class of Romantic Era literature. And two weeks from now I have a fiction writing class.”

“You write?”

Sam shrugged, “I like to, but I’m not too good at it.”

“I doubt that,” Dean murmured, though he was sure Sam had heard it.

Just then the sliding door to the house opened and a burly looking bearded man stepped outside, eyes squinted in the sun under a dirty ball cap.

“Sam?”

“Oh hey!” Sam splashed his way from the pool noodle he had been holding onto the whole time and he clambered out of the pool. 

Dean didn’t miss how his swim trunks clung to him.

“Dean, this is my uncle Bobby, Bobby, this is Dean, he moved in across the street,” Sam motioned for Bobby to step closer as he made the introduction.

Dean stood up and glanced up at the older man who was currently presenting his right hand toward him.

“Erm,” Dean awkwardly help up his casted arm and Bobby quickly made the switch to his left hand with no comment. He liked that about this family. 

“Dean, s’nice to meet ya,” Bobby said shaking his hand.

“Oh, Dean, I forgot to tell you, Bobby owns a garage in town. He has a lot of old cars in the salvage lot that you would probably be interested in.”

That perked Dean’s interest.

“You a car guy?” Bobby asked gruffly.

“Yes sir.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I brought Dean over some time would you Uncle Bobby?”

“Nah, as long as you two idjits don’t touch nothing.”

Dean frowned at Bobby’s choice of words but he caught how Sam just rolled his eyes at his uncle. 

“Dean, we were going to have hot dogs over the pit tonight, would you like to join us?” 

Dean shrugged and looked at Sam who smiled enthusiastically at him. 

“Sure.”

A few hours later Dean found himself sharing a bench with Sam, wearing one of Sam’s hoodies – it was chilly out and Sam didn’t want Dean running back home to get something to wear – roasting marshmallows over the fire pit in the yard behind Sam’s aunt and uncle’s house. 

His aunt Ellen had shown up at some point during the night. She was a kind woman and unexpectedly ran a bar downtown. 

Right now it was just Sam and Dean toasting marshmallows over the coals of the almost dead fire. Bobby and Ellen had left a while ago to go to bed, and it took Dean a moment to notice that there were other places for Sam to sit, and yet he continued to press his knee against Dean’s as the fire slowly went out.

He kind of wanted to suggest to Sam that he could move to a different spot without insulting him, but at the same time he really enjoyed that small contact he had with him. So he didn’t say anything.

All too soon the night was getting late and Dean was saying goodbye to Sam and walking across the street back home.

It wasn’t until he was through the front door that he realized he was still wearing Sam’s hoodie. That made two articles of clothing of Sam’s that he currently had in his possession. 

He ran upstairs to his parent’s bedroom and checked in on his mom. She had stayed up reading a book since Dean was out, and was happy to hear that he had enjoyed his time over at Sam’s. Dean then made his way into his room to retrieve the bloody and sweaty t-shirt that Sam had used to stop the bleeding on Dean’s head the first time they had met. 

Dean wanted to run the hoodie and shirt through the laundry so that he had an excuse to see Sam the next day.

*****

Turns out Dean didn’t need an excuse to go and see Sam. At about noon he found himself answering the front door with a smile, Sam was flashing dimples back at him.

“Hey, how’s it going?” 

“Good,” Dean actually looked at him as he answered him now, even as he was wiping grease off of his hands. He had been tinkering around with some old engine parts that he had in the garage and the old oil coated his fingers.

“I have to head off to class soon, but I was wondering if you wanted to meet me out at my uncle Bobby’s garage later?”

“Oh, uh, I would but I don’t have a ride.”

“I thought that was your car?” Sam motioned toward the crappy two door model in the driveway that was in fact Dean’s car.

“It is.”

“Aren’t you sixteen? You can drive right?” Sam was confused.

“Yeah, I’m sixteen. But I don’t have my driver’s license,” Dean admitted.

“Why?”

“Difference of opinion with my Dad, I guess,” Dean felt like an idiot.

“Well, that’s okay. I’ll just come and get you after class. That okay with you?” Sam’s eyes looked hopeful.

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was quiet so he cleared his throat and spoke louder, “yeah, that sounds fun.”

Sam released the dimpled smile. “Cool, I’m leaving for class now, I’ll be back in, let’s say, two hours and then we’ll head over.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then,” Dean couldn’t help but smile. 

Sam’s grin twitched wider as he waved and turned to lope off toward his car.

Dean shut the front door, still smiling like an idiot as he pulled out his cell phone to call his mom at work and tell her about his upcoming ‘date’ – though that’s not what he called it when he told her, that’s how he thought of it in his head – so that she wouldn’t freak out when she came home and he wasn’t there.

He went back to the garage with his greasy hands and finished tinkering.

*****  
Sam showed up after a few hours and before long Dean was in the passenger seat of his car and the two were driving down town to Bobby’s shop. 

Dean was excitedly babbling about cars the entire ride over, and if he noticed that Sam’s smile grew wider the longer he talked then he certainly didn’t let it bother him. In fact, it acted as encouragement to keep him talking. 

Before long Dean was walking into the garage of _Singer’s Auto_ and his goofy grin hadn’t left his face. It didn’t matter that the cars that were being worked on weren’t the kind to get Dean’s gears going, there was something about the smell of motor oil that just made Dean feel giddy on the inside. 

“Hey Bobby,” he heard Sam saying off to his left, but he was too busy checking out an engine that was up on blocks in the back of the shop.

“Sam, heya Dean.”

Dean turned around and positively beamed at Bobby. 

“This sure is a great garage you have here Mr. Singer,” he took Bobby’s pro-offered hand and shook it. 

He noticed that Bobby’s eyes were momentarily distracted by something he saw on Dean’s fingers and he looked down at the dark back fingernail polish he had on.

He blushed slightly. He had a habit of wearing black fingernail polish when he was working on cars. Something about the black oil sticking to his fingers always looked really cool to him, and masculine. So naturally he drained the masculinity out of the look by painting his fingernails.

Bobby cleared his throat, but neither he nor Sam said anything.

“So you gonna take Dean around the yard?” Bobby asked as if nothing happened.

“Yeah, I was going to show him some of the clunkers, he likes classic cars.”

Bobby looked back at Dean with a toothy smile, “s’that right?”

Dean smiled and bobbed his head up and down like an energetic puppy; he wanted this conversation to be over yesterday so he could start looking at cars.

“Alright, just don’t go crawlin’ under nothin’,” Bobby warned as Sam led Dean out back into the most beautiful landscape Dean had ever seen. 

Fortunately Sam’s long legs were able to keep up with Dean as he ignored the older teen and raced from junked car to junked car. Dean wasn’t even talking anymore, his mouth just hung open in an ever present grin of awe and wonder, the corners of his lips twitching every time he took in the debilitated body of an old car that he was inspecting.

Sam laughed happily at the expressions on Dean’s face. He was simply happy to have finally been able to reach through to the troubled teen.

At last they reached something that made the amusement drain from Dean’s face. Sam followed Dean’s eyes to an old wreck, not quite as gone as some of the rusted up pieces of metal that they had looked at. 

The smile dropped from Dean’s face and was replaced with a longing look; the expression was a prayer of respect and understanding.

Without thinking Dean reached down and grabbed Sam’s hand, “Oh, Sammy, check her out,” his voice quiet with awe.

Dean pulled Sam closer to the black chipped metal surface and hovered his hand over the hood without actually touching it. “A sixty-seven Chevy Impala.”

“You like it?” Sam asked, not trying to sound corny, but genuinely interested in Dean’s tastes.

Dean seemed to remember that he had been holding onto Sam’s hand and released it with a quickly murmured “sorry.”

“S’okay,” Sam shrugged, “so you like this car then?”

“An Impala?” Dean snorted at just how dense Sam was being, “do you even know what sex appeal is Sam?”

Sam could only laugh at that.

They spent another night together until the only light that was around was the floodlight attached to the back of the garage.

Both Sam and Dean were reclined back against the windshield of the Impala.

Sam had been able to get Dean to talk more about himself, nothing revealing. He knew the basics. Dean was a sixteen year old who had moved into a new home. Was an only child. Loved classic cars, had been on the cross country team and had a broken arm. 

It was all stuff he already knew, but the thing was that Dean had actually talked about it, well, except for that last bit. 

Sam was determined to figure it out though. From what Mary had told him when she invited him over for burgers that one night he knew that Dean suffered a great deal from anxiety, but he figured that as Dean sat not an inch away from him that Dean might have felt a little better being in his presence lately.

He preceded his question by clearing his throat. “Hey Dean?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Dean turned to look at Sam, who couldn’t help but notice that Dean’s face was probably only a hand-span away from his. 

“How’d you break your arm?” Sam said the words as if they were made of glass as they passed over his lips.

He couldn’t miss the immediate fear that pulled Dean’s face into a frown, crushing his eyebrows together.

“I’m sorry, that’s not my place to ask,” Sam went to go back to looking up at nothing but a hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“No, it’s okay,” Dean sat up and ran his tongue over his top lip before taking a steadying breath. “I gotta talk about it some time.”

Sam sat up and waited for Dean to continue.

Dean chewed on his lips for a moment before he forced out a humorless laugh, “guess I won’t be able to hide the truth forever,” he murmured.

That just left Sam confused.

“I guess I should s-start with a, uh, a conf-fession,” Dean was trembling slightly now, and his lip quivered a bit. 

“I-uh, I’m-um,” Dean shook his head, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Sam quickly and painfully noticed that Dean’s eyes had glazed over with unshed tears.

“Dean are you okay?” He laid a gentle hand on Dean’s unbroken arm.

“I’m gay Sammy.”

Sam started at that, “did you just call me Sammy?”

Dean looked at him, confusion prevalent behind his tear-rimmed eyes, “yeah?” Dean said it like a question, “didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, it’s just that no one has ever called me Sammy before,” Sam shrugged, “I kind of like it.”

Dean impersonated a fish, mouth opening and closing in quick succession. “I’m gay, you did hear me say that right?”

Sam nodded slowly, “yeah, I know.”

“You know! Oh my god! Did my mom _tell you_!”

Normally Sam would have laughed at the way Dean’s voice squeaked at the end, but felt like this wasn’t the appropriate time for that, “no, I just knew.”

“How?”

Sam shrugged, “I recognize the signs. It’s hard to explain, y’know? That and, well, most guys don’t appreciate it when I sit this close to them if they’re straight.”

Dean pulled his shoulders back and regarded Sam a little differently.

“I’m gay too Dean,” Sam said it simple enough, but Dean wasn’t ready to believe it.

“Riiight.”

“Honest.”

“No, that doesn’t seem right,” Dean shook his head. 

Sam rolled his eyes and sat up a bit, he quickly reached out and forced Dean’s face to his, covering Dean’s lips with a sloppy and enthusiastic kiss that included tongue in case Dean didn’t think that he was committed to the idea of making out with another boy.

Sam leaned back down, stoic face, acting as if he hadn’t just kissed Dean.

“Okay then,” Dean’s face pulled into one of concentration, “I clearly need to work on my gay-dar.”

“Clearly,” Sam agreed. “So what does this stunning revelation have to do with your arm?”

Dean looked down at his cast and sighed. There were so many ways he could summarize what had happened, but figured that someone like Sam would understand what he had to say.

“I was the victim of a hate crime,” he said it softly enough but he knew that Sam had heard him perfectly.

He looked up as Sam’s arms reached out to pull him into a supportive hug. “What happened?”

Dean knew that Sam wasn’t asking out of sick curiosity, but because he wanted Dean to talk through it, and allow him to understand his pain.

“I-It was a few months b-back,” Dean started, and those damn tears started rolling down his cheek immediately. “And I was going out for a run one morning before school. I always ran around the city sidewalks, figured it was safer,” Dean shook his head at the irony. 

“There was a g-guy in front of his shop this one morning, asked me if I c-could give him some help moving a piece of furniture in his s-store,” Dean paused so he could swallow. “I said yes because I knew the guy, he went to church with my aunt.”

“I went inside and before I knew it he h-hit me in the back of the head and I b-blacked out,” Dean was back to trembling and Sam rearranged them so that Dean was effectively sitting in his lap, head cradled under his chin as Sam tried to comfort him as he spoke.

“It was real hard to w-wake u-up,” Dean’s voice was high-pitched through the tears, “but when I did he stuck me with a n-needle, it was a m-muscle relaxer. And he started tying me to a b-bed in one of the abandoned apartments upstairs.”

Sam felt like he was going to throw up, and he might if the story took the turn he was expecting.

“He wa-wasn’t too careful with my arm though, and it got mixed up in the slots on the b-bed,” Dean was positively vibrating now.

“H-he k-kept me up there for three days, t-tied to the b-bed,” Dean swallowed again. “He ripped off all of my clothes, and left me naked. Took a knife and carved a p-pentagram in my chest, and tried to exorcise me.” 

Dean laughed, again no humor to the sound, “he thought that homosexuality was caused by demon possession.”

Sam could hear Dean lick his lips and smack them together as he pulled himself together to finish. “When he realized the exorcism wasn’t going to work he decided to t-try a dif-,” he cleared his throat, “different method.”

Dean nuzzled closer to Sam’s chest for this part of the story. “He broke off the handle of a broom and used it to r-rape me,” Dean choked out his confession. Something he had never wanted to admit to Sam until now, because he felt like the older teen would help him with the pain.

“God Sammy it hurt, it splintered, and I was tear-r-ring. At that point the muscle relaxer was wearing off s-so I started t-thrashing at the p-pa-pain. And he – uh – really liked it wh-when I c-c-cried. So he started hi-hittin’ m-me, and my right arm was still c-caught in the headboard, so he pulled and pulled until he heard that first cr-rack.”

Yep. Sam was going to throw up.

Dean paused and took a few controlled breaths before continuing, and Sam started rubbing Dean’s back to assist in calming him down. 

“But that just kind of made him angrier. So he yanked my arm from the headboard, but my hands were still tied, so the pressure tore some of the tendons in my wrist,” Dean was talking more confidently now, no longer stuttering through his tears, which were still falling away from his face. 

It could have been the breathing exercises Dean had just done, but Sam was hopeful that it was the way he ran his fingers up and down Dean’s spine that had caused the boy to become so calm. 

“He used a hammer to break the fingers, I think; it was hard to focus through all the pain. I passed out when he started hammering at the break on my arm, didn’t wake up until I was in the ambulance on the way to the hospital,” Dean shrugged as if he hadn’t just detailed his rape out loud.

“The entire time the guy was saying that I was evil and a demon, but I can’t understand how someone could be so angry, so full of rage,” Dean was whispering now, he was no longer expressing events that had happened, but his own thoughts on the matter. “I don’t even think he realized that the whole time he was the man possessed, the one who was evil.”

Sam didn’t know what to say to anything Dean had said. He had a control on his own nausea by the time Dean had finished his story, but could only hold the boy tighter for his response. 

Dean snorted, “god, you think it hurts to have your mom pull a splinter out of your finger? You should try dealing with the embarrassment of a male nurse pulling them from your asshole.”

Sam smiled at that comment. Not because it was funny, hell no it wasn’t funny. But because of how incredibly strong Dean was. Sam wasn’t sure that he would have been able to make joking comments about it if he had been the victim of rape.


	2. So What's Your Kink?

Sam continued to hold Dean on the hood of the Impala after Dean had finished telling him exactly how he had broken his arm. It was his way of responding to everything Dean had said, and had left unspoken. 

He wasn’t sure what else to do, I mean, how the hell do you comfort someone you’ve known for barely a week when they’ve just told you the most traumatic event that could possibly occur to a person of only sixteen years old?

Although Dean had held it together at the end of his story, when Sam wrapped a long arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him impossibly closer to stroke the back of his head Dean reacted by putting hesitant hands at Sam’s side and crying some more. 

Sam felt like such an asshole, how could he have possibly made Dean tell him that story? 

Then again, as he sat there, Dean in his laps, arms around one another as he slowly succeeded in calming Dean down again, Sam looked out up at the dark sky and thought that if Dean didn’t trust Sam he probably wouldn’t have told him. He would have come up with some lie, or brushed the question off. 

He paused for one brief moment to wipe a single tear that tracked down his cheek when he finally understood just how quickly Dean had come to trust him in such a short amount of time, and he resolved to hold Dean all night, as long as he needed to in order to let the tears pass.

*****

Dean woke up slowly the next morning. He was warm and comfortable, wrapped up in a comforter that smelled like the burning embers of a campfire. He pressed his face further into the pillow and sighed.

His movements caused the body behind him to respond by tightening arms around Dean’s waist, pulling Dean closer and budding his ass right up to…yep. That was morning wood. 

It was instinct.

Dean elbowed the soft unsuspecting flesh behind him and heard a fatigued ‘oomph’ before pulling from the arms and scooting forward a few inches. He turned around and looked into the blinking and confused face of Sam Winchester.

“Wha- the hell?” he grumbled brushing his hair back from his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean said quickly holding up his hands in defense of his actions. “I woke up and you were poking me with — uh — your — thing, and I panicked.”

Sam chuckled and reached out with his long arm to pull Dean back to curl against his side.

“I poked you with my _thing_ ?” Sam mocked. 

“Yeah.”

Dean’s chin ended up on Sam’s chest as the older teen rubbed a calming hand up and down Dean’s t-shirt covered back.

Sam chewed his bottom lip before smirking. “I suppose it wouldn’t be in good taste for me to offer my thing to you, would it?”

Dean forced a smile, and looked away, “no it wouldn’t.”

Sam seemed to notice that he had made Dean uncomfortable with his question.

“Hey,” Sam used a hand to move Dean’s face back to look into his own. “I’m sorry Dean, I shouldn’t have said that. That’s not something I should joke about.”

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortable looking back into those searching hazel eyes.

“It’s just, I mean, you kissed me last night and — and,” Dean was flustered. How was he supposed to tell Sam that while he was flattered with Sam’s advances that he wasn’t interested in getting involved with the teen. 

“I mean, you’re really attractive and everything Sam, it’s just that I barely know you. I don’t want to start anything or give you the impression that I’m looking for something when I’m not ready for anything.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Sam sat up and took Dean with him, Sam’s hands slipped to take both of Deans, clinging to the bit of fingers he could reach on his casted hand.

“Dean, I wasn’t trying to put the moves on you or anything, last night when I kissed you that was just to prove that I was gay, and this,” Sam gestured to the curve of his lap, “is kind of my natural reaction to having a warm body pressed up to mine.”

Sam ducked his head lower to better see Dean’s eyes, “Dean, you’re great. I think you’re sexy and fun,” Dean blushed at that, “but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you. I mean, I do, but I’m not going to act on it.”

Dean wasn’t sure how to react to the situation, so he went with his gut. “Thanks Sam.”

Sam let out a half-powered dimpled smile and slipped from the bed to make his way to the bathroom attached to his room. He didn’t close the door behind him, didn’t even make a pretense of shutting the door, Dean simply was privy to Sam whipping his half hard member out to do his morning business.

Dean’s face flushed and he turned over in bed, for a guy not acting on his hormones Sam sure was okay displaying himself. He shifted himself to the edge of the bed, planting both feet on the floor as he wiggled the fingers in his right arm. His arm always ended up in a varying stage of sleep at night, but fortunately for him this morning the pins and needles sensation was at a minimum. 

He dropped his head to roll it about his shoulders and as he looked down the rotation of his neck stopped. Between his feet Dean could see a bit of pink lace poking out from under the skirt of Sam’s bed.

Dean’s eyebrow went up at that. He glanced behind him and saw Sam brushing his teeth in the bathroom so he bent over and plucked at the frail fabric with two fingers.

He brought the unexpected scrap to eye level and studied it curiously.

“See you found my kink.”

Sam’s voice startled Dean into dropping the pink lace from his hands, “you — your what?”

“My kink,” Sam repeated sitting down with Dean and reaching between Dean’s legs to grab the pink fabric again.

Sam used both hands to stretch it out in the air, leaning over so that his shoulder nudged into Dean’s.

Now that it wasn’t all bunched up on itself Dean could see it for what it was.

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“Why do you have a thong in your bedroom?”

Sam chuckled. “I like it when my partners wear them.”

“Oh,” Dean’s face flushed and he cleared his throat looking away.

“So what about you?”

“What about me what?” Dean looked back into Sam’s imploring hazel eyes.

Sam bumped their shoulders together, “you know, what kind of kinks you got?”

Dean just looked more confused.

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile, “what weird shit do you do to get you off?”

Dean’s blush went all the way down his chest that time.

“I — uh.”

“You like panties? Leather? Spanking? Being tied up? Roll playing? Biting?” Sam started shooting out suggestions for Dean who just got more uncomfortable with each new idea. 

“I don’t have any kinks,” Dean admitted regretfully.

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows pulled together. “So you mean to tell me that all of your sex is just plain vanilla? No rainbow sprinkles?”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s attempt at a joke, piss poor as it was.

“If I had sex, then yes, it would be rainbow sprinkle free.”

Sam’s jaw dropped.

“No. Tell me you aren’t a virgin?”

Dean felt his ears start to burn with his embarrassment.

“Oh Dean, my sweet baby virgin,” Sam cocooned Dean in his arms.

Yeah, that wasn’t humiliating.

Sam seemed to catch onto the fact that Dean wasn’t responding to Sam’s humor and pulled away from Dean until just one hand remained on his shoulder. “You really a virgin Dean?”

Dean nodded, eyes averted.

“Huh, never woulda pegged you for one,” Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulder before getting up and rummaging about the room, grabbing clothes to get dressed.

“Do you mind if I ask why?” it was said casually enough, but Dean could hear the curiosity in Sam’s voice. 

“Well,” Dean watched Sam as he purposefully faced the dresser while pulling a shirt on, “I guess I’d have to blame my dad for that one.”

Sam turned around, face scrunched in confusion, “why?”

“He hasn’t exactly…been…supportive…of my orientation choice, so,” Dean sighed, “I haven’t exactly been working hard to find anyone to be with since coming out.”

Sam frowned, “how long have you known?”

Dean knew the question, “…’bout four years.”

“When did you come out?”

“About three years ago.”

“Dean?”

The way Sam said it made Dean look directly into his eyes.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“No.”

Sam nodded, “Dean, um, did I steal your first kiss last night?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile, “yeah.”

Sam smirked. “That wasn’t exactly a great first kiss.”

Dean disagreed; it was a kiss from Sam, on top of a friggin’ ’67 Impala. Of course it was a great ass first kiss.

“Can I selfishly ask you for a redo?”

That caused Dean to pause. He really _really_ wanted to say yes. Like _hell_ fucking _yes you can kiss me Sam!_ But at the same time, Dean couldn’t. He couldn’t simply kiss this incredibly amazing person whom he trusted and not expect it to turn into a relationship of some kind. 

Then again, who’s to say Sam wasn’t open to a relationship with Dean? Well, Dean was pretty sure the soiled pink panties Sam had placed on the nightstand were representative of the fact that Sam liked the idea of keeping his field for sexual exploits open.

Perhaps Sam had been waiting for the right person though, and believed Dean to be the one. 

Dean could feel the moment passing, and felt like an ass for rejecting Sam. 

He smiled and stood from the bed and took a few quick steps over to where Sam stayed standing. Dean placed one hand on Sam’s shoulder and the other at the back of Sam’s head.

Dean brought Sam’s head down slowly, and he knew Sam was expecting him to go for a new ‘first’ kiss, which is why it surprised the hell out of the older teen when Dean stood on his tip toes at the last possible moment and placed his soft open mouthed kiss on Sam’s forehead.

Sam pulled back a bit and stared at Dean, the confusion evident in his hazel eyes.

“Sorry Sammy, first impression is already there. I sure as hell enjoyed it, but if you’re ever up for it,” Dean couldn’t help but swipe his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it generously, “I would love getting some pointers from you.”

With that Dean shot Sam a wink, pecked him once on his confused lips, turned on his heels and walked out the door.


	3. Thank you, Sam

It was a few days before Dean saw Sam again. The main reason being that Dean had finally started sleeping in his bedroom as opposed to the couch in the living room; so he no longer woke up early to watch Sam prepare for his morning jogs. 

It was such a small change in Dean’s day to day routine, but Mary couldn’t help but notice that her son no longer passed out on the living room couch and actually got a decent night’s sleep in his bed. She also noticed that it started happening the night after he had stayed over at Sam’s.

“Dean?” 

He heard his mother calling up the steps.

“Yeah mom?” 

“Sam’s here, I’m sending him up.”

“Okay”, Dean’s lips twisted into a half smile as he listened to Sam’s steps approaching him.

“Hey,” Sam pushed Dean’s bedroom door open and peered inside.

“Hey,” Dean called over his shoulder. He currently was tacking up some posters on his bedroom wall. 

“Hey, you need some help with that?” Sam asked as he walked over and started tacking up the posters with Dean.

“Thanks.”

The two boys worked in companionable silence to finish hanging up the posters around Dean’s bedroom.

Soon Sam was sitting on Dean’s bed, leaning back on his hands, admiring the posters of vintage cars that he had helped to put up. 

There was one in the middle that featured a woman in a bikini, but she was on the hood of a 1955 Chevy Bel-Air, fully restored in turquoise and white, so Dean had bought the poster anyways. 

“What they didn’t have a poster with a guy doing that pose?” Dean looked over to Sam who acknowledging the poster in question with a jut of his chin.

Dean’s lips twitched into a smile that he tried holding back, “yeah, they don’t really make car posters featuring men in swimwear squatting on the hoods of cars.” He was currently stuffing the unused thumb tacks back into the box and when he turned around Sam had gone from relaxed on the bed to leaned forward, elbows on knees, and a serious expression on his face. 

“Dean, can I ask you a question?”

Dean frowned and chewed on his cheek, “yeah.”

“You can say no, like, don’t feel any obligation to say yes, at all,” Sam looked up and locked eyes with Dean.

“Okay.”

“This weekend I’m having a few friends over to my place. I’m expecting maybe seven or eight; there will be boys and girls. They’re all friends that go to our high school, some of them are babies like you,” Dean scoffed at that but Sam continued, “two of the boys are gay, one of the girls is a lesbian, and her girlfriend is the question mark for attendance. A few of them are on the cross country team and,” Sam shrugged, “I think you’d like them.”

Dean was admiring the flooring between his feet, “you tell ‘em?”

Sam heard the question, _”Did you tell them I was raped?”_

“No.”

There was a silence while Sam watched different emotions play over Dean’s eyes and face, the most prevalent one being fear, he looked like a frightened animal that someone had backed into a corner and Sam mentally berated himself. He hated that not only was he the one to scare Dean this time around, but that the mention of hanging out with potential friends in a safe environment would make the poor teen so scared.

Sam was about to tell Dean to forget the party when Dean nodded.

“I’ll think about it,” was spoken so quietly that Sam almost hadn’t heard it, but he did. 

Quite honestly the response was better than what he had expected.

Sam got up from the bed and cupped Dean’s chin in his hand and he titled it up so Dean was looking into his eyes, “thank you,” he whispered before kissing his cheek. 

“I never said I would go,” Dean tried to retaliate.

Sam shook his head, “you don’t have to, you trust me enough to consider it, and that’s more than enough for me.”

Dean blushed slightly but didn’t look away.

“So,” Sam stepped back, “you want to come over? I had a crap test in my class today and I want to go swimming.”

“You afraid of swimmin’ on your own?” Dean asked while he turned to retrieve his swim trunks out of his dresser.

“Nah, I just want to make sure someone is there to give me CPR when I eventually drown,” he shot Dean a wink.

Dean stepped into his bathroom to change into his shorts, and when he came out Sam was tempted to make a comment about him swimming while wearing a black Led Zepplin T-shirt, but then he remembered a particular detail about Dean’s attack that had him holding his tongue, for now at least.

“Ready?”

“Yep.”

They were replicating the last time Dean had come over to watch Sam swim in the pool, right down to Dean checking out Sam’s back muscles and abs when he reached up to remove his t-shirt before jumping into the pool. 

Sam was latched onto a pool noodle, being pushed around by the pool filter, and Dean was sitting on the edge of the deck, kicking his feet around in the water and leaned back on his hands while the two were engaged in an easy conversation.

Dean was doing what he defaulted to in conversation, which meant he deflected all topics to revolve around Sam. Currently they were talking about the test Sam had taken that day that caused him so much stress. _Sam_ was bored by the topic, but either Dean was good at faking it or he was really interested in Sam talking about feminist poets from the sixteen hundreds. 

“Dean, I have a question.”

Dean chuckled, “you have a lot of those lately.”

“Yeah well,” Sam shrugged and squinted up at him, “you make me curious.”

“Curious is one word for it.”

“Why don’t you want to take your shirt off?” Sam knew he was ruining the mood but he needed to know. “Is it a self-image thing? Are you afraid to let people see you? Or is it because the pentagram is still visible?”

Dean pulled his feet from the pool and wrapped his arms around his knees, “does it matter?”

Sam couldn’t help but hear the tension in Dean’s voice.

“Yeah, it does matter,” Sam swam over to the edge and propped his elbows on the deck about a foot away from Dean. “I want to know what I need to do to help you.”

Dean only hugged his legs harder. 

“I want to know if I have to write poetry about how beautiful you are, or admire your scars and how brave you are,” Sam ducked his head down and grabbed one of Dean’s hands, “I want to know what I have to do to make you whole.”

Dean snorted, and Sam looked up to see him laughing, “if you weren’t gay,” Dean shook his head, “I think that speech solidified it for you.”

Sam recognized Dean’s humor tactic to deflect his question, and it might have worked on Sam when they first met, but Sam felt like he was privy to the secret manual on how to understand Dean Campbell, so it wasn’t going to work today.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he prodded.

Dean sighed and looked at his single hand in both of Sam’s. “A bit of both I guess.” Dean paused and Sam didn’t push any further. “I was naked for so long during and after,” and Sam couldn’t miss the shiver that ran through Dean, “that I don’t feel comfortable being exposed. Up until a few weeks ago I was wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants everywhere. I had to get heatstroke before I recognized that I needed to stop.”

Dean unfolded his legs and when he bent them back into the pool his thigh was rubbing against Sam’s side. 

“The pentagram is also still visible. It’s not really bad, I guess, some thin lines that scarred, and will probably always be there, but I feel like if people see it they’re just gonna look and they’re gonna know,” Dean started sniffling and he turned his head to look away, but fisted his hand with one of Sam’s.

“Can I see it?” 

Dean reached up with his casted hand and used the hard cast to wipe at his eyes, “I um, I don’t think I’m ready for that Sammy.”

“That’s okay,” Sam shifted so he was between Dean’s legs in the pool, he let go of Dean’s hand and framed his legs with his arms. Sam then used his forearms to raise himself from the water until he was level with Dean and proceeded to kiss him. 

It was so sweet and innocent. Just one set of lips moving on another, nothing more, and it lasted as long as Sam’s arms could hold him, which was actually pretty long. 

Sam pulled his lips away from Dean’s and looked at the soft expression left behind, his eyes were closed, the tension around his eyes gone, and his fat bottom lip was open in a pout. 

Dean’s eyes opened in fractions before his tongue swept out and licked across his bottom lip, his teeth raking across the skin a moment later. 

Sam smirked and pushed away from the decking to propel himself into the middle of the pool. For such an innocent kiss there was enough heat behind it to cause a stir in Sam’s groin; fortunately for him he was under water. 

Unfortunately for Dean he was having the same reaction, and was unsuccessfully hiding his boner behind his cast. Had it been anyone but Dean Sam would have pointed it out in a heartbeat, but instead chose to lie on the pool noodle and float around with his eyes closed for a few minutes so that Dean could adjust if he needed to. 

The two boys resumed their conversation — talking about less stressful topics — and before they knew it the sun was starting to set. Dean gathered his sandals and bid Sam goodbye while Sam toweled off, Sam caught Dean at the stairs and used the shorter boy’s shoulder to peck his lips in a kiss goodbye. 

It seemed so natural to Sam, like the only way for him to reach Dean — a boy so plagued by physical touch — was for him to reach out to him with casual physical gestures. To show him that holding hands, hugs, bumping shoulders and kissing weren’t encounters to fear. 

*****

It was Saturday at five pm and Dean was staring out the front window of his house at the cars that were gathered in the driveway at Sam’s. 

Sam had come over a few hours previously to give a gentle reminder to Dean about the party and before he left with a wink he reminded Dean that there was no obligation for him to come. 

Dean knew that Sam wasn’t expecting for him to show up, he knew that Sam desperately wanted Dean to come, but wasn’t expecting him to. 

So he sat there, legs pulled up close and knees tucked under his chin as two girls stepped out of a blue car and held hands as they walked around the house and to the pool. 

_Guess the girlfriend decided to join._ He thought.

Dean’s attention was brought away from the window for a moment as Dean’s father sat next to his feet. He cleared his throat and grabbed his knees tighter to look out the window and his dad Michael just sighed and looked over to his son. 

“Dean.”

Dean bit his lip and looked at his dad from under his lashes, he always felt wary about talking to the man, and ever since coming out to his family it rarely happened.

“Yeah?” he managed to choke out.

Michael cleared his throat, “you know I’ve never understood the choices you’ve made in your life. But I can’t ignore the fact that Sam has been good for you.”

Michael glanced at his son, “Dean, ever since your attack you’ve been withdrawn. You won’t talk to anyone but your mother. You hardly eat anything, still, but hell,” his dad let out a humorless chuckle, “last night when you ate all of the rice on your plate I almost didn’t believe it was you.”

“You still didn’t eat all of the chicken,” Dean couldn’t help but smile, “but Christ kid, you’ve lost what? fifteen pounds in two months?”

“Twenty,” Dean corrected with a murmur. 

“And how much have you gained back since you first met Sam?” Michael prodded.

Dean had actually weighed himself that morning, so he knew exactly how much he had gained, “four.”

“He’s been good for you Dean, I have to acknowledge that.”

Dean rested his chin on his knees and frowned at his dad, he knew the man was trying to get at something but he wasn’t being obvious about it. 

“Your mother told me about this little party that Sam was throwing, and that you were invited.”

Dean just stared.

“I’m just curious what’s stopping you from walking across the street I guess.”

That was a good question. What was stopping Dean? Sam’s backyard was going to be holding a dozen people, if he included himself and Sam’s Aunt and Uncle. Sam trusted everyone that he was letting into that backyard, and Dean trusted Sam. So what was the problem?

Dean sighed.

He knew what the problem was. While Sam, Bobby and Ellen were kind enough to accept him without questions he didn’t think that he could trust the rest of the people in attendance to be as kind. 

They’d want to know who he was, where he was from, his interests, why his arm was broken….

Okay. So those were perfectly normal questions for people to ask of someone they just met. And if it weren’t bad enough that before Dean’s accident he was shy enough to spontaneously combust from the heat that could build up on his cheeks when people implored too many questions then the fact that being around new people now made him fight off anxiety attacks that he wasn’t sure he was ever going to win, then Dean had his answer.

“I…I just,” Dean sighed and scrubbed his face in frustration, he couldn’t do it. “I can’t do it,” he admitted.

“I just can’t,” he shook his head and avoided his dad’s eyes, “I can’t go over there and be around those people, and they’re going to ask questions, and I don’t like meeting new people. And when I first met Sam I had a full blown panic attack and,” Dean couldn’t help it, he started crying.

“Dad I — I just can’t,” Dean trembled as he cried on his half of the couch until his dad pulled him to his side. 

“It’s alright Dean,” his Dad wrapped him up in both arms and ran a firm hand up and down his son’s back. 

Mary walked into the living room at the sound of her son crying, but Michael just shook his head to let her know that he had things under control.

Dean was still crying, feeling pathetic that he couldn’t stomach going to something as simple as a pool party. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” Michael asked holding his son away from him slightly by his shoulders.

Dean’s eyes latched onto his, dark green and wet.

“How about we go over together?”

“Dad --,” Dead was about to point out how embarrassing it would be for his dad to hold his hand at a party when he was sixteen.

“I haven’t met Sam’s Aunt and Uncle yet,” Michael shrugged, “they seem like nice enough people, so we can go together. And I won’t leave your side until you feel comfortable. Even then I won’t leave that party unless you want me to, or unless you want to leave.” Michael looked firmly into his son’s unstable eyes. “Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice broke over the word, “yeah,” he said again with more confidence.

“Alright,” Michael stood up, “I’m going to go put on something more comfortable and grab a six pack from the garage,” he gave his son a once over, “you going dressed like that?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Dean frowned as he looked himself over. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and black jeans. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Michael lifted his hands in surrender; he had dealt with Mary asking the same question for nineteen years, “nothing, nothing. You look fine.”

Dean squinted his eyes at his father and made a sound between a growl and a sigh as he removed himself from the couch before stomping up the stairs to his room to change.

“What was that?” came a soft voice behind him.

Michael turned to see Mary standing in the archway between the living room and dining room, hands on her hips.

“What was what?” Michael asked full of feigned innocence.

Mary’s smile broke out on half of her face; she knew damn well what her husband was doing. “Well, if I didn’t know any better,” Mary took a few steps closer and wrapped her hands around her husband’s waist, “I would say that you’re encouraging our son to dress up for his crush.”

Michael snapped his fingers. “You caught me.”

“Can I ask why you’re being so supportive all of the sudden?” She looked up into his eyes.

“I still don’t get, _that_ ,” Michael huffed out, “but that’s my son, and dammit if I’m not going to do something that will help him.”

“I know he appreciates it,” Mary nodded her head and they turned to watch as Dean clomped down the stairs. 

“Better?” he threw his arms out to his parents so they could inspect what he had changed into. A black t-shirt that Dean had ripped the sleeves off of at one point that displayed the cover for a Blue Oyster Cult album and a pair of jeans ripped at the knees and washed so many times that Michael and Mary were surprised that there was any structural integrity left in the fabric. 

If it weren’t for the fact that Dean had lost so much weight — and he was a small kid enough already — then his clothes would have fit well, but they were some of the most form fitting clothes Dean had worn in months. 

Michael smiled and added _wears proper clothes and not sweatpants_ to the list of things to thank Sam for if he ever got the chance. 

“Much, you ready to go?” Michael stepped forward.

“I thought you were going to change?” Dean quirked and eyebrow.

“Nah, changed my mind.”

“Oh, so grey is boring but off duty tax accountant, _that’s_ acceptable?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules kid, go grab a six pack from the garage for me would’ya?”


	4. The Dead One

Bobby watched on with fake stoicism as his nephew interacted with the group of teenagers he had invited over. He was currently manning the grill, dishing up hotdogs and burgers to the bottomless pits that Sam called friends.

Ellen was brining out bags of chips and sodas as if she were working the Roadhouse still.

When the last burger was flipped Bobby turned off the grill and shouted out to Sam, whom he had come to think of as his son over the years.

“Sam?” he yelled out and watched as Sam’s long hair whipped about his head as he turned around from where he was seated at the edge of the pool.

“Yeah Uncle Bobby?” 

“I got everythin’ cooked, I’m bringing it inside so the bugs don’t get to it,” Bobby turned off the grill and grabbed his wife from where she was chatting easily with the two girls who had just arrived.

“C’mon Ellen, these girls don’t wanna talk to you, they want to hold hands and go swimming,” Bobby flashed the teenage girls a smile and towed his wife inside behind him.

“Those girls the ones Sam was talking about earlier today?” Ellen asked as she made herself a burger from the plate Bobby had brought inside.

Bobby sat himself at the kitchen table, back to the sliding doors that went out to the deck, he wanted those idjits outside to know he was there, but he didn’t want to see all that they were up to.

“Yep, I think the one with the curly hair is Madison, that little red head is her girl,” Bobby said thinking about Sam’s little group of friends.

“They ain’t been datin’ long according to Sam, but hell,” Bobby turned in his seat and looked out at the two girls in question, “they make one looker of a couple together.”

Ellen nodded, her and her husband had adapted very quickly to having a boy in their care, and even quicker to the fact that Sam and his friends all shared the same sexual orientations. It wasn’t uncommon for all of them to hang out at their house in a group; it was like the Singer household had become a haven for the high school gay and lesbian community. A fact that Ellen and Bobby were damn proud of.

“You want a burger Bobby?”

“Yeah.”

Bobby was about to relax back in his chair when the doorbell rang. He got up and meandered down the hall and opened the front door to reveal a man about his age, wearing khaki shorts and a polo, the man was holding a beer and a smile.

“You must be Bobby,” the man stuck out his hand.

There was an awkward shuffling behind the stranger and Bobby craned his neck to spy Dean hiding behind the man between them.

“I take it you’re Dean’s father?” Bobby grabbed the other man’s hand.

“Michael, it’s nice to meet you, and,” Michael cleared his throat, “can I start off by saying that your son Sam is a great kid.”

Bobby’s face cracked into a wide grin as he accepted the compliment, not correcting the mix-up with his relationship to Sam. Damnit if that boy wasn’t his.

“Brought over a six pack,” Michael continued, “figured we could pop a few tops and share war stories?” 

“That sounds great,” Bobby said ushering Michael and Dean into the house.

He followed the two men into the kitchen and introduced them to Ellen.

“It is wonderful to meet you Michael,” Ellen spoke from behind the counter, “either of you boys want a burger?”

Bobby and Ellen both noticed that Dean was quietly searching through the sliding glass doors and inspecting the activity in the backyard. If it would have been any of Sam’s other friends Bobby would have encouraged Dean to go out back and have fun, but he and Ellen both knew that something was off about Sam’s newest friend. 

It wasn’t that Sam had specifically said anything to them, you could tell just by looking at him. Dean had a look about him that defied his years, his eyes said that while he was still the epitome of innocence, but that they had experienced something that men Bobby’s and Michael’s age could only read about in a magazine, getting blurbs of the whole story, and never fully understanding it.

Michael and Dean nodded yes to Ellen’s question.

“Michael, why don’t you take a seat?” Bobby offered of the kitchen table.

“Dean, sweetheart, can I get your help over here?” Ellen brought Dean into the kitchen with him to help her cut up an onion to give the boy something to do while he made up his mind on where he was going to go.

Dean hadn’t said anything yet, but as Bobby sat back at his spot at the kitchen table he looked over at the kid. His clothes didn’t look two seconds away from falling off of his shoulders or hips like they had the previous few times Bobby had seen him, and he kept his head down. His eyes were darting back and forth and a faint pink tinge was accompanying his cheeks even though his face was flushed.

Bobby looked back to Michael who was busy removing the tops from two beers, either the man wasn’t aware of the fact that his son was freaked out, or he was all too aware and knew that the issue didn’t need his attention.

“Ellen, you want one?” Michael asked as he passed a beer over to Bobby.

“No thanks, I’m going to finish playing hostess in a few minutes and head upstairs to read a book, but you boys are more than welcome to the garage fridge if you finish that pack off and want more.”

Michael smiled and turned to have a conversation with Bobby.

Bobby was half paying attention to Michael, but the rest of his attention was focused on Dean. After Ellen considered her duties to be met she kissed Dean on the temple brought Michael and Bobby their plates, and walked out of the kitchen. Dean brought over his food as well, but only picked at it. 

Dean looked a little shaky in his seat, nothing readily noticeable, just a hand tremor here and there when he reached for his drink or managed to bring a piece of food to his mouth.

Every so often Michael would reach out and rub one of Dean’s shoulders, but the boy stayed hunched over in his seat. 

After about twenty minutes, during which Dean managed to eat about two bites of his burger, and around four chips from Bobby’s counting, Dean stood up and took a heavy breath.

“Dad, I’m going to head back home,” he said the words as if they belonged to a curse.

“You sure buddy?” 

“Yeah, I um,” Dean shook his head, “I want to go home,” he said it in a whisper.

“Alright,” Michael looked to Bobby as he stood up.

“No dad,” Dean held his hands out stopping his father, “you can stay.”

“You gonna be okay?”

Dean only nodded “thanks for having me over Bobby.”

Bobby smiled, “any time boy.”

With that Dean turned and quietly made his exit.

When the front door shut Michael turned around and ran both hands over his face, scrubbing at the lines of worry and weariness that Bobby saw on his own face in the mirror, though Bobby’s lines didn’t run quite so deep.

“What I wouldn’t give for Dean to have gone out back for five minutes,” he spoke as his eyes looked over Bobby’s shoulder.

Bobby sighed, “Michael, it might not be my place to ask but, what happened to your son?”

Dean’s father scratched the back of his head, “he hasn’t told you?”

“No, figured the boy would tell me when he was ready, but,” Bobby shrugged, “he’s a good kid, I’d like to know what we can do to make him more comfortable when he comes for a visit.

Michael folded his hands as if he were praying; arms propped up on the kitchen table, and pressed his intertwined hands to his lips. 

Bobby already regretted asking when he took in the haunted look that Michael had in his eyes, but he had already opened that door, and it seemed that there was no closing it now.

Michael closed his eyes, as if by not being able to see Bobby it made the admission easier. “He was uhm,” a heavy sigh as he searched for the words, “attacked…physically…sexually, where we last lived.”

It felt like someone had tipped Bobby’s chair over with him in it, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting the man across from him to say, but that sure as hell hadn’t been it. Michael didn’t have to say the word, raped, Bobby knew it was implied. 

“Oh my god.”

Michael nodded sadly, “it’s why he has the,” Michael waved his right arm in the air, “broken arm.”

“Christ,” Bobby leaned forward and tugged at the short hairs of his beard, “how does he do it everyday?”

Michael shrugged, “he didn’t really, before the move here he just kind of, existed,” Michael finally met Bobby’s eyes, “didn’t really eat, never spoke to anyone but his mom and therapist.”

Michael chewed his lip, “he only started really speaking to me a few days ago.”

“Has getting him out of the area helped?” Bobby was curious.

The other man just laughed and shook his head, “hell no,” he drank from his beer and fixed Bobby with a serious look. “Your son.”

“What?”

“Sam, your son,” he elaborated, “that’s what has helped Dean. Mary and I haven’t seen him act so much like his regular self since before the fact. My wife and I have a lot to thank your boy for.”

Bobby grabbed his beer and stared at the label, “So Sam huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve known for a few years that Dean had a uh — thing — for boys, and I think he’s got a bit of a crush on your boy Singer.”

Bobby chuckled.

“So which one is he?”

He looked up to see Michael searching through the backyard for the mysterious Sam who had been the one to piece his son back together.

Bobby pivoted in his seat to point out Sam among the crowd of teenagers in his backyard.

He spied him, sitting on a plastic box that held all of the pool supplies with one of the other boys in his lap, Trent. Sam had his arm around Trent’s waist and Trent had an arm over Sam’s shoulder. 

The position would have been fine enough had it not been for the fact that the two were kissing like there was a countdown above their heads.

Bobby could only pray that Dean hadn’t seen the display, but knew better than to hope. It was likely that Sam and Trent were the reason behind Dean leaving so quickly, and if he really did have feelings for Sam then Bobby could understand why.

“Which one is Sam?” Michael asked again.

“The dead one,” Bobby growled out before getting up from his seat.


	5. All For Dean

Bobby opened the sliding door quickly and barked out at Sam, startling his nephew and every other person in their back yard. “Sam!” All heads whipped around to look at the burly man, as he stepped outside, “I need your help in the garage,” Bobby’s tone had no one fooled.

Sam quickly and awkwardly disentangled himself from Trent, his lips pressed together in apology as he followed after his uncle.

Bobby was the first in the garage and paced around until Sam joined him only a few moments later. 

“Bobby? What’s --.”

“The hell are you thinkin’ boy?” Bobby growled out at Sam the moment the service door to the garage clunked shut behind him.

“What?” 

“Sam, you ain’t into Trent! There ain’t no box o’ rocks between my ears! I know damn well that you don’t like Trent enough to be kissin’ ‘im boy!” Bobby noticed spit fly with his aggravated words.

Sam would have been frightened by his Uncle’s forceful tone if it weren’t for the fact that he was taken aback by the older man having paid attention so closely to Sam’s interactions with his group of friends.

“Bobby why are you so upset? You’ve seen me kiss boys before,” Sam honestly didn’t know what had his Uncle so bothered.

“Just tell me Sam, why are you swapin’ spit with that lug-head _now_ , he’s been after you for months and you told me at the end of the school year that you didn’t like him like that.” 

Bobby could hear it now, he was painfully aware of his…son… and kept strict tabs on Sam’s feelings toward the people he mentioned or brought around the house. Yeah, it made him sound soft, so what, he made damn sure that nobody, and he meant nobody hurt his Sam. And if the price of keeping the boy safe meant that he paid extra special attention to how Sam felt or even talked about his friends, then so be it.

Sam awkwardly shuffled his feet around and absolutely refused to make eye contact with his uncle, all of which was unusual behavior for the normally charismatic teen. So Bobby knew whatever the reason was it was one that Sam was reluctant to share.

Normally Bobby would have backed off at Sam’s display of discomfort, but there was no way in hell Bobby was going to look Michael in the eye without some reasonable explanation for why his boy had hurt the already sensitive Dean.

“Sam!” Bobby yelled, forcing the boy to jerk his body into a ramrod straight posture and look his uncle in the eye. 

Bobby felt his eyes bugging out of his head as he full on glared and Sam finally got around to answering his uncle’s question.

“Because of Dean okay?” Sam was reluctant to admit his reason out loud and went to rubbing his forearms as if he could shuck the discomfort off of his skin.

Sam’s answer made no sense to Bobby and he said as much to Sam who only rolled his eyes in annoyance at having to further his explanation, Sam’s tone said casual, though the red splotches that arose on Sam’s cheeks clearly stated _embarrassment_.

“When Dean stayed here the other night,” Sam paused and his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, “and I kind of woke up…stiff.” Sam didn’t need to elaborate on that one. 

“He was kind of uncomfortable with it, from what I can tell,” Sam continued while admiring the crack that ran down the middle of the concrete garage floor, “and so I figured if he showed up tonight and saw me with some other guy he wouldn’t feel as uncomfortable hanging around me.”

The blush was up to Sam’s forehead by now.

Some of Bobby’s anger had dissipated with Sam’s explanation. He was only trying to do what he saw as right, and it was all with Dean’s well-being in mind. 

Oh, Sam had completely and utterly fucked up. Beyond it actually. But at least there were good intentions behind it. Right?

Bobby sighed and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, causing the kid to look up at him.

“Sam,” Bobby started but was unsure of how to continue, telling Sam the truth of what Dean had seen would only upset Sam, but then again he had to know the truth in order to fix the situation.

“Sam, Dean was here already,” Bobby could see the panic flare in Sam’s eyes at that, “he saw you two an’,” Bobby shrugged, “an’ he left.”

“Shit,” Sam breathed out, the full implication of Bobby’s words hitting him. 

“Now I know you meant the best for Dean, but his Dad’n I had a bit of a talk, and well, Dean seems to have a bit of a crush on you Sammy,” Bobby rarely called Sam that, and only really did so when they were having a serious heart to heart.

“Bobby, I didn’t want to hurt him,” and he could see in the boy’s eyes that he really meant that, “he’s going to hate me.”

Bobby grabbed both of Sam’s shoulders and held him steady, “he ain’t going to hate you. Might be pissed as hell, but he won’t hate you.”

Sam only stood stock still in his uncle’s hands.

“C’mon, I want you to go inside and have a chat with Dean’s father.”

Sam allowed himself to be brought inside to the kitchen to meet the man he had heard about from Dean.

“Hello sir,” Sam said upon their approach.

“Ah, you must be Sam,” the other man turned around and positively beamed at Sam. 

He wasn’t quite what Sam was expecting. Sam’s own father was a military man, complete with a buzz cut, sour disposition and tight rings around his eyes that matched the ever present scowl he wore on his face. He only had two outfits that Sam had ever seen him in, and that was his military uniform or jeans with a military training shirt.

Bobby was fairly similar in style, though his own grayed out hair grew a few inches longer, even though it was hidden with dusty baseball caps. He also wore jeans — stained — and old t-shirts that had seen better days. 

This man before him looked to be of a different world. 

Slick black hair parted on one side like he had used a ruler to keep the line straight, thin wire rimmed glasses that looked like it came with the haircut, a button up plaid shirt, tucked into khaki shorts and some of those brown laces-free loafers Sam had seen — the ones that were advertised as ‘comfortable’ but which really screamed ‘tacky’ and ‘orthopedic’.

No wonder Dean got into arguments with the guy. He hardly seemed the type to like anything that wasn’t ‘Leave it to Beaver’, nuclear family, apple pie and ice cream normalcy. 

And even for the 21st century having a gay son wasn’t the epitome of normalcy.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” Sam said a beat after Michael’s greeting.

“I’ve heard about you plenty from Dean,” Michael said as they shook hands, “well, from Mary — but they were Dean’s words,” he added.

“Oh?” Sam had nothing clever to say.

“And I just wanted to thank you for everything that you’ve done for Dean,” Michaels voice dropped as he got serious. “I’m sure Dean has told you everything by now, and well,” Michael looked down and nodded before locking his gaze with Sam again. “Thank you. Mary and I haven’t seen Dean so happy and like his old self since before…before,” he left it at that and Sam’s stomach lurched.

He couldn’t keep eye contact with Dean’s father when he spoke up, “I heard that Dean left…”

“Yeah,” Michael frowned and sighed, scratching behind his ear in a nervous way to dispel tension, “he seemed a bit upset, maybe bringing him over here wasn’t such a good idea.”

From the looks of it Michael was blaming himself for dragging his son to the party across the street. 

Sam licked his lips and prepared to offer Michael the reason as to Dean’s sudden exit when Bobby cleared his throat. Sam looked over to his uncle and saw a slight shake of the man’s head, telling Sam to keep it to himself.

“Um, I’m going to go over and see how Dean’s doing,” it was a statement, but Michael gave Sam permission anyways.

“Alright, Dean’ll probably be in the garage,” Michael dropped a hand on Sam’s shoulders and their eyes met for a moment. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam offered a weak smile in reply and turned from the kitchen without another word.

As he made his way across the street Sam didn’t know what he would do or say when he found Dean. He hadn’t expected his actions to hurt Dean, but then again he had underestimated Dean’s feelings for him. If Dean liked Sam as much as Sam liked Dean then watching Sam kissing Trent probably felt like swallowing ice cubes and getting punched in the face simultaneously. And Sam was the one with more solid footing than Dean. 

He had royally fucked up.

Sam set foot on the Campbell’s driveway and immediately went to the service door to the garage, he didn’t want to encounter Mary and have to offer an explanation as to why he was comforting Dean, or why Dean was upset in the first place. 

He didn’t allow for any hesitation when he opened the door, otherwise it would give room for his heart to start beating too quickly. 

His eyes had been trained on the ground of the garage as the door swung open, and he used the momentary distraction of having to lift his gaze to bring oxygen in his lungs as he prepared himself to call out Dean’s name.

His lungs full to capacity he looked into the empty space of the garage and — no Dean. The air came pouring out of his lips in an anti-climactic gesture. 

_Okay. So Dean’s in his room then_. Which isn’t that just wonderful?

Sam growled low in his chest, irritation at himself manifesting. 

He strode quickly across the garage floor and tramped into the house making a beeline for the stairs. His sudden presence startled Mary who was quietly watching TV in the livingroom. 

“Sam?”

“Mary.”

He ignored the fact that she wasn’t greeting him in favor of climbing the stairs, painting a target onto Dean’s bedroom door.

In his haste to get to Dean Sam didn’t recognize the fact that he burst into Dean’s room so that the door bounced off of the wall and slammed back toward him.

“Dean we need to --,” Sam stopped short when he realized that Dean’s bedroom was empty as well. 

There was no one on the bed, or at Dean’s desk. There was no Dean. 

_Now_ Sam’s heart started to panic. 

“Dean?” Sam called out into the empty space and took a few steps forward before he recognized the sound of someone approaching.

He turned around to see Mary’s startled face, “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Where’s Dean?”

Mary looked even more confused, “he left with his father, he’s over at your house --.”

“No,” Sam almost yelled so he could hear himself over his pounding heart, “he was upset. He saw me — he came back home. Do you know where he is?”

Then Sam saw it, the look that dropped over Mary’s face the first time she found out Dean had gone missing during that tragic day all those months ago. She went from confused and startled to white flushed face and nauseous in front of Sam’s own eyes.

Mary’s hands came up as she started talking as quick as Sam’s heart was pounding. “I-I didn’t see him come home. He left with Michael not an hour ago and I’ve been in the living room ever since watching TV I didn’t see him come home.”

Sam grabbed onto Mary’s shoulders as she began to hug herself in panic. “I’m going to find Dean. Don’t panic.” He placed a kiss on the woman’s head and wondered who he was saying that to. Mary or himself?

They both needed the reassurance he decided.

“Dean!”

Sam began running from room to room, flinging doors open, not bothering to stop and care that he tore his way through Mary and Michael’s bedroom and bathroom. He was simply in a blind panic. His mind on a one track thought of _Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean._

He barely registered the fact that his whole frame was shaking as he raced downstairs, past Mary at the bottom of the steps and flung himself out the back door. 

“DEAN!” he screamed into the open space of the backyard. No Dean.

 _Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean_.

He headed back to the front of the house and took Mary outside with him. He paused to look into the cabin of the car that Dean didn’t have a license to drive. No Dean.

“Sam,” he whirled around to look at Mary.

“What’s going on?”

When he noticed that Mary’s face was wet with tears he didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“Dean saw me kissing another guy at my party and he left upset. I didn’t think it would hurt him like that Mary, I swear to you. I just wanted him to know that he was okay being around me because I know he’s sensitive to stuff like that. And he really likes me and I really like him too and I just wanted him to be comfortable with me because he’s a great guy and he’s just so broken and I just can’t believe how stupid I am,” — Sam took a deep breath and registered the fact that he was positively vibrating at this point and crying — “and now he’s gone and I don’t know where he is and I need to tell him how much he means to me and --.”

Mary enveloped Sam into a hug and spoke softly into his chest, “Sam you need to calm down.”

He tried taking steadying breaths but couldn’t keep the pace. 

“Mary? Sam?”

Sam looked up to find Bobby and Michael walking across the street, twin looks of confusion on their faces. 

Sam took a deep breath preparing to launch into an explanation but Mary stopped him.

“Dean is missing.”

That stopped both men in their tracks. 

“What?” Michael and Bobby’s faces did the same things that Mary’s had. Going white as they let Mary’s words settle in. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Mary stepped forward, “we need to check out all of the places that Dean knows. Where he feels safe --.”

Mary wasn’t finished talking but Sam heard her words and immediately had one thought come to mind. _The Impala._

Dean had loved that car when he saw it and first told Sam about what had happened sitting on the hood of the car. Perhaps it was possible that Dean had gone back to the salvage yard to lick his wounds. 

Sam turned from the group and took off at a dead sprint.

“Sam!” Bobby turned to grab Sam but the three adults weren’t able to catch him. 

“Sam get back here!”

But he wasn’t listening. He cut across the street and ran despite the fact that he was wearing only swim trunks and was barefoot running over rocks and grit on the road and sidewalk. He needed to find Dean.

It was a solid three miles to Bobby’s garage that sat just on the inside of town, and the sun had started to set which meant that Sam wasn’t able to see very well what he was stepping on. But it didn’t matter. He had his mantra going in his head, and that’s all he was thinking of.

 _Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean Find Dean._

And damnit, he was going to. 

The closer he got into town the more car traffic he came in contact with and he skittered in front of a speeding car as he barreled across the street to the back entrance to Bobby’s car lot. Sam hopped the fence, ignoring the fact that his boxers were torn and his arms and legs cut as he hefted himself over the barbed wire. 

He landed on the ground hard and dropped to his knees, but he scrabbled his way up quick enough and began sprinting across the salvage yard to where the Impala sat.

“DEAN!” Sam was positively screaming at this point. “DEAN! WHERE ARE YOU!”

He rounded an old engine that sat up on cinder blocks and literally slammed into the side of the Impala. Sam’s breaths were gulps of air, and his vision blacked out at the edges at the lack of oxygen and Sam’s blind panic. No Dean.

Sam crumbled into the dirt beside the car and sobbed. 

Dean wasn’t at home. Dean wasn’t in his room. Dean wasn’t on the Impala. Dean wasn’t anywhere safe.

And it was Sam’s fault.


	6. Victimized

Sam’s fingernails raked at the ground and when he felt himself loosen clumps of dirt he fisted it and threw it, screaming incoherently and trembling. 

He had screwed up. _BIG TIME_ . 

It wasn’t like he had hurt the feelings of some normal hormonal and emotionally illogical teenager, he had hurt Dean. Someone who didn’t even rebound from normal situations very well. 

Now that Dean was missing anything that happened to him as a result was Sam’s fault. And that’s all he could think of as he left his Uncle’s lot. 

He had screwed up. He had hurt Dean. 

Forget the fact that Sam’s actions had been made in an attempt to make Dean feel comfortable. Sam had miscalculated and as a result Dean was the one being victimized.

Sam began walking back home, his limbs heavy with regret and tears falling in fat droplets from his eyes. 

He was in the process of wiping at his runny nose when a spot-light hit him. Sam raised his arms to cover the light and attempted to look past it when a cop car pulled up alongside where he was walking on the side walk.

“Sam?”

The passenger window was rolled down and Sam recognized the cop who worked at the school as security during the academic year.

“Officer Mills?”

The woman was leaning over to peer at Sam from her spot in the driver’s seat.

“Sam get in the car,” she offered no pleasantries and so Sam was quick to follow her orders.

“Why are —.”

“Your Uncle called, said you might be around the yard,” she answered as she sped back to Sam’s neighborhood. “He also told me that your friend has gone missing.”

Sam gulped at the sharp line that her lips pressed into.

“It’s my fault,” Sam looked down at his hands fisted in his lap, “I hurt him.”

Jody Mills reached over and placed a reassuring hand at the back of the teen’s neck, applying slight pressure as he continued to cry and babble on about how he was to blame for his friend leaving. 

From what Bobby had told her Jody knew that Sam’s friend Dean required some attention. He was a victim of a traumatic attack which happened very recently. And in Jody’s experience individuals who have lived through what Dean has had the tendency to snap at situations that people of stable minds wouldn’t bat an eye at. 

While she didn’t know Dean’s specific story she didn’t doubt that he suffered from some kind of PTSD, which meant that he suffered from a very real, very unforgiving mental and emotional condition. 

Her number one concern at the moment was Dean’s response. She assumed he was feeling rejection, and most likely not just from Sam. If Dean’s feelings were isolated to Sam then he wouldn’t have run; he would have gone home where his parents were accepting of him.

Often times when PTSD sufferers felt like their family and friends rejected them they took extreme actions. 

Jody inhaled a beat and offered Sam a shaky smile. “He’s going to be okay Sam.”

She spoke this with all of the assurance and confidence she could muster, in her attempt to calm Sam down. While she doubted that all would be okay she needed Sam to remain calm as well as anyone else who found their way into this situation. 

Her eyes trained back on the road she pressed harder on the accelerator and tried to get to the Singers’ house in half the time it should take.

Sam was still trembling and breathing erratically when Officer Mills pulled into the driveway of the Campbell household. 

He vaguely registered the fact that a few of his friends were standing on the front porch, shoulders hunched together and talking in quiet whispers. He felt their stares on him but just ignored it as he pushed past them following after Officer Mills.

Once in the kitchen he found Mary seated and bowed over her hands, crying softly yet breathing steadily as Michael gripped both of her shoulders and placed repeated kisses at the top of her head.

Sam turned the corner in the kitchen to see Bobby talking quietly with Trent. And Sam’s breathing got more out of control again. 

His knees buckled in his panic and his Aunt Ellen shot over to his side to hold him up.

“You’re okay Sam,” she ran soothing hands over his face and shoulders, “c’mon Sammy, stand up for me.”

He gripped her hands hard and she had to half drag him off of the ground. 

His blood was roaring in his ears to the point that he couldn’t hear what his aunt was saying to him, but he reacted to her soft touches. 

Mary looked up into Sam’s eyes and he flinched before he realized that she in fact didn’t look upon him with hate or anger. It was more of a sad hope, like she still cared for Sam, even though he was the one putting her through this horrendous situation.

Ellen began tugging Sam away from the kitchen and he followed absently along. When she made to steer him out of the house he retaliated. He pulled out of her grasp and stumbled a few steps back, slamming into a wall. 

He could feel himself stammering, trying to say he wasn’t going to leave the house but he couldn’t get the words to form.

His aunt made to approach Sam when he felt unexpected hands on his right arm. He turned his head to stare into the understanding eyes of Mary.

She smiled at him sadly as her words made their way through his panic. “How about I take you upstairs to lie down?”

She spoke with the knowledge that a person acquires when they live with someone who goes into panic attacks frequently and Sam felt himself start to cry all over again knowing that she had learned her strategies by calming Dean.

He nodded with his whole body and replied to reiterate his thoughts. “Ye-yeah. Yes. I’d like that.”

Mary looked over to Ellen as she escorted Sam upstairs. 

He was expecting to be placed in Dean’s room but Mary ignored the open door in favor of depositing Sam in the master bedroom.

Sam sat heavily on the bed and immediately fell back on the pillow. Grabbing onto it and breathing in choked whimpers to the pillow. 

Mary lifted Sam’s legs onto the bed and draped a blanket over him to stop the shivers that she knew would shoot through him by the time he calmed down.

She looked at Sam, crying and inconsolable on the bed and she just knew. She knew that whenever they found Dean that as long as Sam was there her son would be okay. She knew that Sam would see Dean through anything and everything. 

Why is it that Mary knew Sam was right for Dean?

She couldn’t answer that.

Why did anyone know that they had found the right person for them? Like how she had found Michael? Or how Bobby had found Ellen? They just knew. And Mary knew that Sam was right for Dean.

She bent over and kissed Sam’s temple.

He tried to thank her by saying _“Thanks Mary”_ , but with his crying and hiccupping it came out sounding more like a garbled “Thanks Mom”.

Mary quickly wiped a tear from her eye before leaving the room, and she just knew that her boys would be okay.

***

Sam fell asleep when he had finally cried himself out. A soft thunking sound is what woke him up a short while later and he pushed himself off of the bed wiping at the dried tear tracks that were present on his cheeks. 

His nose was stuffy from crying so he got out of bed and made his way into Mary and Michael’s bathroom to blow his nose on a wad of toilet paper. 

He made a few attempts to dislodge the blockage in his nose and eventually blew hard enough to pop his ears, but he was now able to breath steadily through one nostril.

After the toilet flushed the soiled paper away Sam heard the soft thunking noise again, and he was able to recognize it coming from down the hall this time.

Sam walked out into the hall and took a deep breath through his mouth. He didn’t know how the situation had changed while he was asleep and he was scared to head downstairs to find the scenario at either end of the spectrum. 

On one hand if Dean was still gone then nothing had changed. But, if Dean had been found when Sam was sleeping then what would he say?

He had taken a few steps to head downstairs to see what was going on when he stopped at the entrance to Dean’s room. 

Sam had only been in there once, and that was the time that he had helped Dean to hang up the posters. With a glance at the stairs he stole into Dean’s room.

Everything was as it had been when Sam had first been there, the only difference was the fact that Dean had unpacked a few more decorations and that an old blanket had been thrown over the foot of Dean’s bed. 

He walked across the carpet and sat down on the floor, back resting against the bed, and he dragged the blanket over his shoulders. Sam hadn’t recognized it before, but Dean’s room smelled like him.

It tugged on his memory from the night he had let Dean stay the night in his bed. Sam had curled himself around Dean, pressing his nose to the tingly flesh behind his ear and he breathed in Dean’s scent all night long.

He smelled warm and sugary. Like a baked dessert straight from the oven. Like cinnamon rolls. And Sam’s mouth watered at the memory.

Sam pulled the blankets tighter around him and burrowed his face deep in its folds. He pulled in slow, deep breaths of Dean’s smell. Committing it to memory and savoring it. 

A few tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks as he cried just a little bit more at the thought that Sam might never get to smell Dean again. Or hold onto him as he slept. That he might never get to swim in the pool and look up at Dean sitting on the deck, leaned back on his good hand, legs swirling in the water.

He looked so peaceful then. And the sun always caught his hair and played around his head like a halo of golden light. And whenever Sam had made Dean laugh or smile it was always the most beautiful sight or sound that Sam had ever heard. And it was always being replaced with Dean’s new smiles and laughter; each one replacing the last as the most beautiful of things in Sam’s mind.

Sam could tell from the light entering Dean’s bedroom window that it was likely around midnight, which meant it had been roughly five hours since Dean had disappeared. A lot could happen in five hours, a person could either travel a great deal of distance, or a great deal of damage could be done to them.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the mattress, allowing his breathing and heartbeat to slow down and steady. It was quiet in the Campbell household. So quiet that Sam could hear the faint click in his throat every time he swallowed.

And that’s when he heard it.

A faint buzzing sound that had a rhythmic quality to it. It sounded like muffled music.

Sam straightened his head out and looked before him in Dean’s bedroom. Right next to the bedroom door was Dean’s closet with bi-fold doors and Sam realized that one of them was partially opened.

On either end of the doors the closet itself had to extend about an extra foot, creating a pocket of hidden space.

Sam extracted himself from the blanket and stood up. With patient yet trembling steps he made his way up to the closet doors and reached out for the handles. He held his breath as he slowly drew them open. 

When the doors reached the end of the track they were sitting on they made that same soft thunking noise that he had heard earlier, twice. Meaning they had opened and closed just recently.

Sam looked past the clothes that were hanging up in his way and pushed them around until he could look into the pocket of space behind the doors.

All of the air rushed out of his lungs as Sam collapsed down to his knees.

“Dean?”

He reached out and gathered Dean’s sleeping form in his arms, pushing the large headphones and IPod out of Dean’s lap — music still playing.

“Dean?” Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, grabbing at his face and forcing his unopened eyes to look at Sam’s.

“Dean?” this time Sam’s cry was broken and he placed his forehead on Dean’s, “m’so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he cried openly. Washing Dean’s face with his tears.

Sam thumbed across Dean’s cheekbone and came to the startling realization that Dean wasn’t waking up. 

“Dean, Dean wake up. C’mon Dean, open your eyes for me please?” 

No, Dean wasn’t sleeping. He was unconscious.

Sam pulled Dean out into the bedroom further and when he looked into the now vacant spot where he had found Dean his heart dropped. It was covered in blood.

Sam looked back down at Dean’s form splayed across his lap and found the source. A long determined line of red welled up on Dean’s good arm, from wrist to elbow, a glint of metal shone in the cut and Sam found that Dean had wedged a razor in the cut to keep it open.

Dean had tried to kill himself. Had attempted suicide with Sam right down the hall.

Sam’s vision started clouding and his head bobbed as his mind shut down refusing to take in all of the information and stay conscious at the same time.

He felt himself blacking out but refused to do so quietly. Sam pulled in a lung-full of air and screamed. Straight up screamed. He didn’t have the time or luxury of forming words to go along with his plea. All Sam could do was scream and pray that someone was downstairs to hear him. 

When his scream cut off Sam knew he was going out and all he could do in his last few seconds of control was to tighten his arms around Dean and angle his collapse so that their faces were pressed together in an intimate embrace.


	7. Dean?

Sam groaned a bit and wrinkled his nose at the sterile chemically cleaned air he was breathing in. 

He shifted on the scratchy surface he was on and adjusted his legs but felt sharp twinges of pain in his upper thighs as the skin pulled. 

Sam scrunched his face up and peered blearily through one eye, bringing up a stiff arm to rub at his eyes. He could see his Aunt and Uncle talking to Dean’s parents and had to groan in order to get their attention.

Mary stepped over and helped Sam sit up in the cot he was sitting on.

“How are you feeling Sam?” 

“Why are you all here? Where’s Dean?” his voice was low and grumbly. 

“Well, to put it simply you’re kind of easier to look at at the moment,” she admitted sadly.

Sam licked his dry lips and felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Is he okay?” he asked softly.

Mary nodded, “he’s okay,” she gripped Sam’s hand and though he wanted to ask more he wasn’t sure if he could push Mary to give specifics of his situation.

Sam swallowed thickly and wiped at his eyes with his free hand as a few tears escaped. 

“I’m so sorry Mary,” his voice came out a hoarse whisper, “I’m so sorry that I hurt Dean.” He refused to meet her eyes but held tighter onto her hand. “I never wanted him hurt like that, an-and I did that to him.”

Mary reached out and gathered Sam’s other hand while Bobby ushered Michael and Ellen out into the hallway so Mary and Sam could speak.

“Sam,” she spoke softly as she sat on the cot alongside of him, “Sam I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Sam nodded but kept his eyes averted as he wiped at persistent tears. 

“This wasn’t your fault.”

“Bu--.”

_“This wasn’t your fault_ ,” she spoke again with more authority, and Sam had no other option than to look at her now as tears flowed unchecked down his face. 

“I’m going to be frank with you Sam, because I need you to understand what’s going on. So yes, you were the catalyst for what Dean’s actions were,” she cupped Sam’s chin as he went to cast his eyes down, “but you weren’t at fault Sam.”

“But you said that what I did caused Dean to try — try that,” Sam’s voice was choked on his constricted throat as he fought his tears.

“It did. I can’t deny that Sam, and neither can you. But understand this,” Mary rearranged her hands on Sam’s cheeks to thumb away the tears, “if he didn’t act out to you kissing another boy then he would have taken extreme actions at you, or me, or his father doing something else at some point down the line.”

Sam whimpered and grasped Mary’s wrists lightly as she pulled Sam’s head close to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Dean is broken Sam. He might physically be okay, other than his arm,” Mary shrugged and Sam burrowed his face into Mary’s neck in order to seek some semblance of comfort. And she didn’t push him away, merely left one hand on Sam’s face, caressing away the tears, and running her other hand up and down Sam’s back. 

“He needs you though.”

“I’m the one who did this to him.”

“You’re also the one who’s been saving him.”

Sam inhaled deeply. “How is he? For real?”

Mary twined her arms around Sam’s shoulder and gave the teen a gentle squeeze. She couldn’t be happier that Dean had befriended such a sweet boy; one who did wonders for her Dean.

“He’s fine Sam. I know he didn’t look well when you saw him, but the damage to his arm really isn’t as bad as you think it was.”

“There was so much blood.”

He felt Mary nod, “that is true, but that’s because he had,” a shuddering breath, “held the…vein open…”

One of her arms released Sam to travel to her face, no doubt wiping away a tear and Sam closed his eyes to keep himself from having to look at the sadness expressed on her face.

“He’s getting a blood transfusion now to replace what was lost but --,” Mary broke off and had to excuse herself from Sam’s bed to grab a few tissues.

“Since the injury was self-inflicted he’s being held in the mental ward, he has leather cuffs to keep from hurting himself,” she shrugged and dabbed at her eyes, clearly not as nonchalant about the situation as she made herself seem to be. 

“He’s still asleep for now, probably will be waking up soon, but it’s just hard to see him cuffed to the bed is all. That’s why we were all here with you,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Do you know if I can see him?”

Mary nodded, “Officer Mills wanted to have a few words with you after you woke up, but I believe you could go up for a while, yes.”

Sam turned his attention to the sheet covering himself, “why am I in a hospital bed anyways?”

“Oh, um,” Mary stepped closer and pulled back Sam’s sheet exposing his thighs and a few bandages on them.

“When the EMT’s came for Dean they noticed some cuts on your legs, Officer Mills speculated that they were from when you jumped the fence at your Uncle’s garage, and so they cleaned them up, I think one required stitches, and they gave you a tetanus shot.”

“Oh, I had forgot about those.”

Sam ran a tentative finger over one particular gauze pad which covered a stinging pain that Sam imagined was the cut that required some stitches. 

“I didn’t even notice that you were bleeding when you came back, but then again I think we were a little preoccupied at the time,” Mary let escape a small laugh but it cut off quickly as she dabbed at a few persistent tears. 

“Is Officer Mills on her way?” 

Sam didn’t mean to be rude, but he really wanted to wrap this conversation up to go see Dean.

“I believe your Uncle Bobby was going to get her.”

Sam nodded and took a deep breath. 

Just then there was a small knock on the door and Officer Mills came into the room followed by Bobby, Ellen, and Michael.

“Hey Sam, how’re you feeling?”

Sam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Okay.”

She nodded, “that’s good, just wanted to ask you a few questions about tonight.”

Sam felt his eyes burning again as tears made their way out and down his face. 

Officer Mills reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Can you tell me about what happened after Mary brought you upstairs?”

“Uhm,” Sam cleared his throat and pawed at his eyes, refusing to be embarrassed over the fact that he was openly crying in a room full of adults. “I fell asleep on the bed for a while, but uh, uhm,” he cleared his throat and sniffed loudly, “there was a um, noise — that woke me up.”

Mary handed Sam a tissue and he wiped at his eyes as the crying continued, he had to look like one hell of a mess, but he really didn’t care. 

“I went into the bathroom and blew my nose and the noise sounded again, so I stepped out into the hall and — and I just had to go into Dean’s room. I wanted to look at his stuff and remember it all in case… well… I went into his room and kind of sat wrapped in his blanket from his bed. It smelled like him, y’know?” he asked and looked up at the adults, hoping that they understood him.

“Anyway. There was this sound and it was like faint music, so I followed it to the closet and…well….yeah,” Sam licked his top lip and swallowed a sob at thinking of how he had held an unconscious and bleeding Dean.

“So you didn’t see Dean moving around the upstairs to get the — what he needed?” she questioned.

“No.”

“And you didn’t actually see anything?”

“No,” Sam’s trembling hand came up to brush his hair out of his face, “I was too late to do anything,” he whispered.

Officer Mills nodded, “okay Sam,” she lifted her hand from his shoulder and looked at the others in the room. “That’s all I need tonight, we’ll be in touch.”

She walked out of Sam’s room to hushed murmurs of goodbye. 

Sam was still shaking slightly, thinking about what could have happened if he hadn’t woke up, or if he would have walked past Dean’s room instead of entering it.

“Uhm, can — can I go see Dean now?” he looked at the four adults in turn.

“Sure sweetheart,” it was Mary who answered. 

“Bobby, Michael, you guys can go on ahead, we’ll keep an eye on the boys,” Ellen spoke.

Bobby, who had been quietly clearing his throat to keep from crying while watching his nephew stepped up to where Sam was sitting and wrapped him in a hug, “it’s going to be okay Sam,” his Uncle spoke directly into his ear.

“I know,” Sam tightened his arms around his Uncle’s neck and took a deep breath. 

Bobby broke the hug, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder and walking out of the room without another word.

Michael simply nodded in Sam’s direction and walked out of the room behind Bobby.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat, “Dean?”


	8. Say Something

It’s difficult to exactly pinpoint what heartbreak feels like. For starters is the sudden and unsettling realization that you do in fact have something in your life that has the power to knock you to your knees without making any physical impression on even the small electrical atoms that bump across the hairs on your skin. 

That recognition that not only would you die to save something…someone, but more painfully so you realize that when that thing or person ceases to exist or becomes inexplicably broken that you are no longer gifted with functionality, because now your lungs dispel the air around you and no longer agrees to take it in, even with the glorious risk of suffocation pressed against your chest. Legs and arms lose their rigidity, refusing to take that one final step, or reach out that searching hand to confirm that — yes; the sole purpose of your existence has been shattered and in fact lays broken at your feet.

That. Is heartbreak.

Sam’s stitched up and gauze wrapped legs carried him into Dean’s room, and then no further. 

Was it cliché for Sam to think of how insignificant Dean looked propped up on that bed? Probably. But it shouldn’t lessen the truth of it. All Sam could bring himself to focus on at first was Dean’s face, pale and sad looking even in sleep, it was like a smattering of dust had reduced the features of Dean’s face and all Sam wanted was for his green eyes to open as he cracked a smile. 

He wanted the vibrancy to return. He wanted Dean back, cracked and crumbling, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want broken. He wanted _his_ Dean. 

It took his Aunt Ellen’s hand on his back for Sam to recognize that he had paused in the doorway, crying and breathing too quickly to be effective. Sam stepped forward and trembled with unchecked tremors as he tried to slow his breathing.

Sam reached the bed and Mary’s hand sought his. He couldn’t spare her a glance as she twined Sam’s fingers with Dean’s unresponsive ones and he held on tightly. He could see it all now. Dean’s cast had been removed from his broken arm to make way for the IV tube for his blood transfusion and it was strapped down to a hard, curved Styrofoam board to keep the broken arm in place.

The hand Sam was holding was the arm Dean had cut. Thick gauze padding and medical tape covered his forearm, no doubt leading to stitches over Dean’s self-harm scar.

Both arms had a thick leather strap encompassing them, they were fairly loose to make room for the wrappings and medical equipment, but were far too wide for Dean to pull himself from. 

Sam ran the tips of the fingers of his free hand over the soft, worn leather straps keeping Dean tethered to the bed and he swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat.

“M’sorry,” he whispered before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Dean’s unresponsive lips ignoring his aunt and Dean’s mom in the room. “I’m so sorry,” he spoke, eyes closed and lips sticking to Dean’s dry cracked ones.

Sam felt a hand on his back and turned around to look Mary in the face. She was wiping some tears off of her face, “Sam, your Aunt and I are going to step into the hall and let you be alone with Dean for a moment,” she hugged Sam and he responded, wrapping his arms tightly around her neck.

It was one of those lingering hugs, the kind where the other person squeezes so tightly that you both kind of get the impression that they’re trying to compress all of the broken parts together. It was what they both needed.

Mary sighed and disentangled her arms, placing her palms against Sam’s cheeks and forcing his face down so she could kiss his forehead.

“Let us know if you need anything sweetheart,” Mary sniffed wiping at her eyes and walked out of the room.

Ellen simply caught Sam’s hand in an affectionate clasp before following after Mary.

That left Sam alone in the room with Dean.

In the hospital bed where Sam had put him.

Sam only wanted to be one place at the moment and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about it.

He undid the leather strap on the arm Dean had cut and did his best to maneuver Dean onto his right side.

He left his right arm in the leather strap to keep from shifting the pins in his broken hand or removing the IV accidentally. He then climbed over the metal railing that the straps were hooked to and wedged himself behind Dean so that he was half on the mattress and half on top of Sam’s chest.

Sam wriggled one arm under Dean’s shoulder and let it come down across his chest. The other arm curled around the forearm Dean had cut and his fingers wrapped protectively and gently around the gauze padding.

Sam nudged his head up against Dean’s and breathed in the warm sugary smell he found behind Dean’s ear just like he had done the night Dean had stayed over.

Sam kept his eyes closed and stayed content feeling Dean’s heart beating against his chest and listening to Dean breathe softly in and out.

***** 

Sam had fallen asleep in the bed with Dean and after a while every staff member on the floor of the hospital knew about it. 

There’s something about the sweet, simple acts that accompany tragic news that just kind of melts the hearts of all people in the vicinity, and that’s why Sam was able to get away with sleeping with Dean. The nurses on the floor just couldn’t bear the idea of tearing the two teens away from each other.

Initially when the Physiatrist of the hospital had discovered that Sam had crawled in with Dean he had had objections. That was before he had a chance to sit down and talk to Dean’s parents and Sam’s Aunt and Uncle. After hearing about Dean’s relationship with Sam he changed his mind, and encouraged the nursing staff to make it as easy as possible for Sam to be with Dean. Not that they were going to kick him out of Dean’s bed anyways.

At almost six o’clock in morning the four concerned adults were wearing out. The taxing events of the night were hitting them hard and even the sludge like hospital cafeteria coffee couldn’t keep their eyes open much longer. 

Now that they knew that Dean, and Sam, were okay the necessity that they all be at the hospital to wait around wasn’t there. So Bobby had volunteered to sit in Dean’s room to be there when one of the boys finally woke up.

Bobby and Ellen watched as Mary said goodbye to each boy, kissing them slowly on their temples, and whispering words that went unheard.

Michael cupped Dean’s pale face and only downcast his sullen eyes as he stepped out of the room after his wife. 

Ellen walked up to the bed and ran a hand through Sam’s hair, unworried about waking him up, and soon followed the Campbell’s out of the hospital room. 

That left Bobby to look after the boys. He huffed as he sat down in a sad reclining chair that the hospital room offered. He could just barely make out the dark hair on the top of Sam’s head, and smiled. 

“You did good son,” he kicked out the foot rest and settled in, “real good.”

*****

Bobby woke and with a groan sat up, shoving the foot-rest back in place in the reclining chair. He wiped a hand over his face, waking up his tired muscles and looked out into the room. He jumped when he noticed Sam sitting at the foot of Dean’s bed, looking at Dean unblinking.

“Sam?” Bobby’s voice was low and groggy with sleep.

Sam didn’t look over at his uncle.

“You okay there son?”

Sam’s eyes broke away from Dean but only stared emptily at his lap as he plucked the lint off of the sheets covering Dean’s legs.

He murmured something, but it was so quietly spoken that Bobby couldn’t make it out.

“You’re going to hafta say that again.”

Sam sighed, moving his shoulders with the exaggerated motion.

“’S m’fault,” Sam said brokenly.

“Sam, it ain’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” tragic hazel eyes met Bobby’s. “Shit Bobby, I — I did this to him,” he paused to sniff loudly and wipe his hands across his face in broad swipes. “Jesus Christ, he tried to kill himself when I was right down the hall!”

Sam looked away, eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the tears, “I could have been there for him for the darkest point in his life, tried to get him to stop, to not hate himself so much that he saw no other option than to kill himself, and — and,” Sam’s cries came out as whimpers, “and I wasn’t there for him.”

He reached up and wiped his palms across his eyes. Bobby allowed a majority of the tears to pass, waiting until Sam sat up straighter and took a deep inhale of oxygen to steady himself before talking.

“Sam?” 

Sam looked over at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You’re right. I know what Mary said to you last night, and you jus’ gotta keep that in mind. Dean has suffered something traumatic. Something that’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life. That ain’t on you. You didn’t do that to him,” Bobby sat back in the chair and ran a thoughtful hand through the scraggily hair of his beard.

“But, you did kiss Trent, n’that’s what had Dean so broken last night. You know that, I know that, Dean and his parents know that. But this wasn’t your fault.”

“Bobby --.”

“This. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.” Bobby emphasized. 

Sam rubbed at his nose and made sad sniffling sounds. “What do I do Bobby?” Sam looked back over at Dean who was still, thankfully, sleeping away.

“You want to know what you need to do?” Bobby got up and walked over to the bed, joints cracking as he went, “you want to know how you help Dean get past this?”

“Yes,” he replied with hopeful eyes.

“You be there for him,” Bobby said seriously and swallowed before continuing. “You be there every gosh darn minute of the day for him. You talk to him. You apologize. You apologize like hell, because Dean needs to know that you care. He needs to know what the reasons behind your actions were. You tell him everything he means to you, and you tell him everything,” Bobby felt himself thrusting his arm out from his side like he was giving some depressing version of a pep talk.

“You love him boy. You love him — That’s how you get him past this.”

Bobby let his words hang in the air for a moment, watching Sam’s face as Sam stared intently at Dean. 

“I can do that,” came the hushed reply.

*****

It took quite a while longer than anyone expected it to. But finally Dean woke up. Or rather, they finally noticed that he had woken up.

It really was anticlimactic, obviously, since Dean had probably been awake for a good half an hour before anyone noticed it. But it had finally happened. 

A nurse had come into the room to check Dean’s IV and broken arms when she smiled, “well hello there sweetheart, we’ve been wondering when you’d wake up.”

That got the attention of everyone in the room. Dean’s parents had come back to the hospital that afternoon and Mary emitted a small gasp at the nurse’s words. Even Sam, who literally hadn’t left the bed since he had climbed in in hopes of being the first person Dean saw, hadn’t realized that Dean had been awake.

It seemed that Dean had simply opened his eyes, still on his right side where Sam had put him. And he stayed there, shut his eyes again and did nothing.

“Dean?” Sam reached out a hand and laced his fingers with Dean’s.

And he didn’t respond.

“Sweetheart, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” the nurse prodded, bent over slightly so she could look into Dean’s eyes.

Dean didn’t say anything back, just looked straight forward.

The nurse stood up, lips pressed into a thin line and walked out of the room saying something about getting a Doctor.

Mary immediately took over the spot that the nurse had been occupying. “Dean? Honey, can you talk to me?”

She licked her lips and looked around for something to touch of Dean, to think of something to say to get a reaction out of him. 

Sam kept his fingers laced with Dean’s; his heart was pounding in his chest at the thought that he had broken Dean so thoroughly.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam could make out that Michael was sitting on the edge of the chair that Bobby had slept in, his elbows were propped up on his knees and his head was buried in his hands, as if in shame.

“Dean?” Mary reached out a questioning hand and placed it on Dean’s shoulder.

The clicking of shoes against the hard floor had Sam looking at the entrance of Dean’s room. A Doctor in a white lab coat was making his way into the room being followed by the nurse that had just been in there to check on Dean.

“Excuse me ma’am,” he said to Mary who stepped out of his way. 

He bent over and shone a pen light in Dean’s eyes. 

“You see, totally conscious, just unresponsive,” the nurse said as they noted the reaction of Dean’s eyes.

“Right,” the Doctor stood up and looked at the three non-patients in the room. “Hello, I’m not sure if we’ve been introduced but I’m Dr. Schmidt, I would like to talk to all of you in a few minutes but for a moment I would like a chance to examine Dean without you all in the room. If you would please step into the hall I can answer any questions you may have when I am done.”

His tone was unemotional, but professional. He was clearly accustomed to working with such sensitive cases.

Mary was back to silently crying and immediately waited at the door with Michael. They were waiting for Sam to remove himself from Dean’s bed, which if it had been any more difficult it would have required a crowbar and a stick of dynamite. 

It actually made Mary smile slightly to watch how painful it was for Sam to release Dean’s hand. To watch as his fingers shook with trepidation at letting go. 

Sam took in an uneven and broken breath as soon as he let go, and took a few steps backwards before leaving with Mary and Michael.

 

*****

Selective mutism. That’s what the doctor called it when he finally met up with Mary, Michael and Sam about an hour later. Apparently Dean felt okay exchanging a few words with the doctor and the nurse while they were in his room, he just didn’t have anything to say who knew him personally.

That hurt. Like — a lot.

Knowing that Dean was perfectly capable of speech, but that he just couldn’t — or perhaps didn’t feel like — talking to Sam or his own parents; it was like a physical wound. 

After hearing more about Dean’s background and previous condition it didn’t surprise the doctor. It was no secret to anyone who had met Dean before Sam was able to get his hands on him that Dean didn’t talk to people other than his mom. He’d allow a few words to be forcibly removed from his mouth if he had to, but other than that Dean didn’t say more than what was necessary.

This time around Dean’s silence seemed to encompass everyone. And Sam didn’t know how he was supposed to cure Dean this time. 

Dean’s doctor seemed really optimistic, he figured that if Dean was able to overcome his selective mutism before that he would be able to do it again. Sure, it was going to be a whole hell of a lot harder the second time around, but it wasn’t impossible. The doctor left after encouraging Mary, Michael and Sam to talk to Dean like normal. 

Sam was told that he needed to continue talking to Dean, hanging out with him like they usually did; he was encouraged to keep up the physical presence as well. 

“Hold his hand; put your arm around him, if you’re sitting next to him on the couch let your knees touch,” Dr. Schmidt had said, “just casual comforting touches.”

He had also brought attention to the fact that Dean was obviously comfortable with Sam sharing his bed, and said that when Dean went home that it would be a good idea to let Sam continue sleeping with him.

“You need to foster a comfortable and safe environment for Dean again, just like you did last time. It might be discouraging that he doesn’t want to respond to anyone for a few weeks, but don’t let that disappointment show. The last thing we want Dean to feel is that he’s letting us down.”

Sam released all of the breath in his lungs and sat back in the couch he was on, looking up at the ceiling, and tried to swallow the enormity of what the doctor was telling him.

“Sam?”

He brought his head down to look at the doctor again.

“I understand that Dean’s reaction last night was caused by something that you have done, and while that isn’t the cause for Dean’s current condition it is important for you to talk to Dean about it,” Dr. Schmidt considered him seriously.

“Now I have the nurse sitting Dean up in bed so he can look around, and so that it’s easier for you all to interact with him. In a few minutes I’d like to go into the room with you while you talk to Dean,” he paused and stared at Sam, “would that be alright?”

Sam swallowed hard as he considered that. Ever since talking to Bobby in the garage all Sam wanted to do was to talk to Dean. But now that he actually was about to do it? He wasn’t so sure how he felt about it. 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Dr. Schmidt checked his watch before standing up, “you ready?”

Sam stood up too, on shaky legs and his heart started beating quickly again. “I’m ready.”


	9. I Refuse to Give Up On You

Sam followed Dean’s doctor from where Michael, Mary and himself had been sitting and talking back to the entrance of Dean’s room. 

It was an uncomfortable walk as this time around Sam tried to distract himself by looking into open doorways as he passed them.

A lot of the patients were in rooms by themselves — small ones — and they were always alone. No visitors whose presence would wash away the depressing isolation of their existence — only crushing and crippling solitude.

At the door to Dean’s room Dr. Schmidt paused, hand outstretched to twist open the doorknob. 

“Just go ahead and talk to Dean like you usually would, okay Sam? Make sure to address yesterday’s incident. Take your time and be as supportive as possible. I’m going to be in the room with you watching the interaction,” he placed his free hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Breath Sam, you don’t have to be nervous.”

Sam released a gust of air and felt some of his tension leave him, “that obvious?”

“You’re just talking to Dean, it’ll be okay.”

 _Just talking to Dean,_ Sam repeated as Dr. Schmidt steered him through the door, _I can do this, I’ve done this before…_

Sam looked up and saw Dean propped up in bed, his eyes were open but not looking at Sam or Dr. Schmidt, they were trained on his lap. His bottom lip was pulled into his mouth as he alternately chewed and sucked on it. He was nervous too.

A chair had been moved closer to Dean’s bed and Sam put all of his effort into taking calm steps over to it before sitting down.

As soon as the back of Sam’s thighs hit the chair he deflated, losing all of the little confidence he had managed to work up.

He adjusted himself in his chair, rearranging his legs and swallowing the excess saliva that had made its way into his mouth.

Sam breathed in deeply, gathering his energy and looked up into Dean’s face.

Now that he was closer he could see the glassy look of Dean’s eyes, the reflexive squinting and blinking as he fought off crying.

Sam’s heart clenched at that.

Not only had Sam’s actions landed Dean in this hospital bed under suicide watch but his mere presence had reduced Dean to fighting off tears. 

Sam had literally held Dean as he cried once before, but Sam had made a mistake and working to gain Dean’s trust again was his punishment. Oh sure, Dean felt comfortable around him, but you can also feel comfortable with a body pillow too, but you would never trust your body pillow to take care of you or wipe away your tears. For now, Sam was a comfort — he would have to work his way up to companion again.

Sam waited a long while in that chair, the combination of trying to find an appropriate thing to say coupled with Dean’s near tears left him without a plan of action.

It took an involuntary twitch of Dean’s fingers to break Sam’s silence — because it was then that Sam realized that Dean’s self-injured arm was back in the leather strap. 

Sam didn’t even try to cover up the sob that escaped his throat as he closed both of his hands over the one of Dean’s.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whimpered; he was shivering as he cried and looked into Dean’s eyes which refused to meet his own. It was a piss poor apology, but it was only the start for Sam.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam licked his lips and tasted the salt from his tears, “I screwed up so much and I let you down. I made such a huge mistake an-and you’re the one who got hurt. It’s just --,” Sam paused and sniffled, “Dean, the night you stayed over and we shared my bed when you woke up and I --,” Sam broke off as he suddenly remembered that they weren’t alone. He didn’t want to explicitly say what he had woken up to, but knew that Dean understood what Sam was referencing.

“I don’t even think you realized it at the time, but you were shaking — so shaky,” Sam whispered as he thought back to that morning when he woke up and the first thing he noticed was plain ghost-white terror on Dean’s face before the other teen realized he was safe and calmed down again.

“I had made that joke about — the offer I made,” Sam censored himself again, “I thought it would make you feel better, more comfortable around me.”

He took a deep breath to pause, during his talking his gaze had drifted down from Dean’s face to the hand he was holding in both of his own. Sam looked back up and saw that not much had changed in Dean’s face except for a burst of red that colored his lips where he had worried over the skin too much until it had started to bleed.

Sam frowned and reached up to remove Dean’s lip with his thumb while he kept talking. “And then I invited you to the pool party”, Sam had left his thumb on Dean’s lower lip — soothing over the tender spots he had chewed on until they were warm and swollen — and so he felt Dean stiffen at his words. 

“And I knew you would be there, I just knew. I know you told me you would only consider it, but you’re such a brave person, and your mom can be pretty persistent when she wants to,” Sam huffed out a laugh, and that’s when he noticed he himself had stopped shaking — a few tears still rolled out, but it wasn’t lost on Sam that in his attempt to comfort Dean that it also soothed Sam. 

“But then I remembered the first time you met me when that morning in the driveway, and you had been so scared. God you actually passed out I scared you so much,” Sam’s voice dropped and darkened, he didn’t like talking to Dean anymore, but knew that he had to continue, especially because he was approaching the important part, the stuff that Dean needed to hear. 

“And I knew if you came over it would scare you to be around so many new people,” — and now Sam’s voice grew hoarse as a fresh onslaught of tears hit him. 

“I didn’t think you could handle being around new people and me at the same time — because I thought the idea of me being sexually attracted to you scared you,” Sam shook as he drew in a breath, “so I asked Trent if he could kiss me because I thought it would make you feel more comfortable with me. Like I wouldn’t be trying to force myself on you. I just didn’t want you scared. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if I frightened you Dean, I care about you too much.” 

Sam whispered as he turned his head away from Dean and pressed the hand that wasn’t currently holding onto Dean’s over his mouth, his tears rolled over his fingers as he suppressed his whimpers.

“’M s’sorry,” came his muffled apology around his hand, the thickness in his throat and the whimpers that accompanied his tears. “All I wanted to do was make you feel safe around me but all I managed to do was hurt the only person I think I’ve ever loved,” he croaked out.

Dean’s hand, which had complacently sat in Sam’s the entire time — making no effort to return the gesture or discourage the touch — clenched around Sam’s hand at those words.

Sam looked back at Dean, dropping his hand from his face and sighed as pools of dark emerald stared back at him. Dean was looking at him now — actually acknowledging his presence.

Sam felt like he had won the fucking lottery in that moment.

“I’m sorry Dean, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that,” Sam said as he openly cried in front of him. 

A single, fat, perfect teardrop fell down from both of Dean’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispered it this time. He had already repeated it, but the words would lose their meaning long before Sam ever stopped saying them to Dean, before he stopped working to fix what he had broken.

Sam wanted to ask forgiveness, ask if Dean had accepted what Sam had offered him — but he would never ask that of Dean. He didn’t deserve Dean’s forgiveness.

What Sam did do was remove the leather cuff from around Dean’s wrist, and he ran his fingers over the gauze on Dean’s arm. 

Dean watched Sam’s fingers as he did this and Sam watched Dean’s face.

Sam paused in his movements and hoped, _prayed_ that Dean would say yes to his next question.

“Can I kiss you?” he said the words so softly he was afraid Dean wouldn’t hear it.

Dean hadn’t taken his eyes off of Sam’s fingers and didn’t look at Sam when he asked the question.

Just as Sam was about to dismiss his request slowly but surely, Dean nodded his head.

Sam smiled as he stood up and leaned over the bed, he had to cup Dean’s face and tilt it up because Dean was still staring at their clasped hands, but then their lips were touching and nothing else mattered. 

Sam ignored the fact that there was a doctor in the room so blatantly watching them as Sam kissed Dean — and more importantly Dean kissed Sam.

Sam prodded lightly along Dean’s lips with his tongue — and when Dean let him in Sam cried, knowing that Dean understood, that Dean would let him in again.

They kissed until their tongues had removed the salty taste of Sam’s — and then Dean’s — tears. Sam pulled back and rested their foreheads together and Dean actually whimpered at the loss of Sam’s lips — and _Christ_ did that vocalization from Dean sound like the most beautiful tone in the world. 

Sam smiled and looked into Dean’s open eyes. They were so close to one another that Sam could see it, could finally see that Dean, _his Dean_ , was there. He was broken and scared and in need of help. But damnit, he was _there_.

“I love you,” Sam said it out-right this time and was able to see and feel the twitch and release of Dean’s face as he almost smiled. And so Sam said it again, just to see Dean’s lips curl up one more time, “I love you” — and Sam wasn’t disappointed as the barely-there-smile stayed longer this time. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Sam whispered. And now it was his turn to not disappoint Dean.


	10. Homecoming

Sam unfortunately had to leave Dean shortly after making his promise that everything would be okay, because after him Mary and Michael took turns talking to Dean as Dr. Schmidt observed. After Sam it was Mary who went into Dean’s room to comfort him. She wasn’t in there as long as Sam had been – she mainly just told Dean how much she loved him, how much she cared about him, how he would always be her baby – you know, typical mom stuff.

That left Sam and Michael in the strange waiting/visiting room of sorts. There were couches and standard hard backed waiting room chairs, a few toys from decades ago were scattered in one corner, and old magazine subscriptions were stacked on a small table in the corner. 

A TV was perched near the ceiling and was set to a soap opera that only came across in Spanish, and while neither Michael nor Sam were fluent in the language it made a nice sound to break up the silence. 

Sam hadn’t realized that he had never actually talked to Dean’s father until he struggled to come up with a conversation piece as they waited for Mary to finish her time with Dean. 

The ten minutes she was gone felt more like an hour as Sam studied the man who Dean grew up with.

Michael was still dressed like it was casual Friday in the office – loafers, khakis, a button-up shirt. His hair was still slicked to the side and ruler sharp as it had been the night before when Sam had first met him.

Which, wasn’t that a kicker? 

It hadn’t been 24 hours since Sam had first met Michael and yet here they were in the metaphorical trenches together, fighting a common enemy – Dean’s PTSD – with the weapons of unconditional love and support. They were supposed to be fighting together, and yet Sam couldn’t muster up the courage to freely speak to the man.

Perhaps it was because Dean and Mary had inadvertently dropped clues as they were talking about the fact that Michael didn’t exactly…Sam didn’t want to say tolerate, but more or less it was a fact that Michael didn’t understand how people could be involved with people of their same sex. 

All Sam knew was that the man dressed like an off-duty banker sitting in the chair across the room didn’t understand/agree with/condone his life choices, and that made it extremely difficult to open a dialogue with him.

Just as Sam was about to turn his face to Michael and try to say something to him for about the eighth time Mary and Dr. Schmidt walked in.

Sam and Michael stood up at their entrance.

“Alright, Michael, if you’d please follow me,” Dr. Schmidt asked.

Michael pecked a kiss on Mary’s cheek before stepping out of the room after him.

Mary immediately sat down in the couch that Sam had just vacated, and so Sam sat with her.

She sighed, long and hard before turning to Sam with a smile.

“Well, I know you don’t think it Sam, but Dean’s doing great.”

“Really?” Sam asked, unbelieving that Dean silent and unresponsive was great in any context.

“True, he could be better, but you weren’t there the first time around. I mean, at least then he would talk to me but,” she shrugged, “he didn’t even _try_ smiling last time. Just now I was in there and I made a comment about fixing his hair to look all cute for you and he actually had to bite his bottom lip to keep from smiling!” She cheered with a wide grin on her face. 

Sam had to chuckle at that.

How was it that after everything that they had gone through Mary could still find the best way to not only get everyone to laugh but make Sam feel like he had a special place in her heart despite it all.

Sam sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees and he played with his fingers – lacing them, unlacing them, cracking his knuckles, making fists…

“So you really think he’s going to be okay?” Sam asked with a small voice not looking in Mary’s direction.

“I do,” she said quietly, as if truthful words kept their meanings when spoken softly.

“Why?”

Mary sighed and laid a hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, rubbing in small soothing circles.

“Because I know Dean. That boy has too much love in him, too much to keep to himself. He’ll always find a way to share that love. Always has, always will.”

“And when I say love I don’t mean the kind of feelings that only romantic partners have Sam,” her fingers tugged on Sam’s hairs playfully and he smiled.

“I mean the kind of love where you care for everyone. Want to protect them. Help them. That’s Dean.”

She went quiet for a few minutes and she continued to rub along Sam’s back.

“But he’s never really had someone to get that kind of love from,” this was said almost sadly.

“Well he’s had you and Michael --,’ Sam started saying.

“And while lovely people are you willing to admit that Bobby and Ellen are enough for you?” Mary asked.

“No.”

“That’s my point Sam, Dean responds to love so much better than most people. Even though I know he doesn’t like to admit it. And he has you this time around Sam. Now it might be bold for me to say that Dean loves you, or even that you love him – and so I’m not going to say that.”

Sam turned slightly and saw that Mary had been eyeing the back of his head the entire time. He wanted to tell her that he had told Dean, said exactly to him what she probably hoped he had, but decided against it. 

For now, it was just something that he and Dean – and Dr. Schmidt – to know.

“But when you take care of Dean – Sam – you give him something that he needs. A person who loves him who doesn’t have to. That’s the difference between Dean’s father and I, and you. We have to love Dean, we’re his parents. You’re just the boy next door Sam, there’s nothing that says you have to care about Dean. And that is why I know he’s going to be okay.”

They sat like that a while longer – Sam leaned over, elbows on his knees and Mary rubbing soothing circles on his back – before Sam broke the silence. 

“I do,” Sam spoke and he turned to look Mary in the eye, “I do, you know?”

Mary smiled, “I know.”

There wasn’t any more clarification needed on the subject.

***

Dean was finally going home.

He had been under a strenuous suicide watch and psychiatric care for 72 hours before Dean’s doctor would allow him to leave and Mary, Michael and Sam – as well as Ellen and Bobby were all given basic training and instructions on how exactly to interact with Dean.

He still hadn’t said anything. He was content with his eyes talking for him, or the occasional half shrug when asked a question.

Other than that one whimper Sam had heard when he kissed Dean he hadn’t heard him make a sound at all. And despite what Dr. Schmidt had told them, he was a little disappointed.

It seemed that Sam was prepared to do hard work to fix Dean, but on the inside he was expecting to see miraculous – or at least some – changes as a result.

The nurse had assured that Dean did speak to her and Dr. Schmidt when everyone else was out of the room. He didn’t talk at length, but they had got a smattering of yes’s no’s when they prompted him with questions.

Dr. Schmidt had been able to elaborate on the selective mutism after watching Dean with Sam, Mary and Michael.

It seemed that on top of the PTSD Dean was feeling insecure, embarrassed and self-conscious of his decision to attempt suicide. Simply put, he wanted to talk to them, wanted to apologize, explain himself, say something – anything! – he just didn’t know how.

Dr. Schmidt speculated that when Dean first woke up and realized where he was and what had likely happened that the twin powers of guilt and embarrassment kept Dean from making it known to everyone in the room that he was awake because he simply didn’t want the attention put on him. 

Dean had simply shut down his most important use of communication because he needed time to heal and work through everything before he could find the words to say.

It seemed like a strange concept. Sam had thought at the time, if Dean wanted to talk then he could just say something – couldn’t he?  
Dr. Schmidt had corrected Sam on that, saying that it wasn’t a conscious decision on Dean’s part. He explained it like this. 

“Imagine that what happened to Dean, the attack, was like you cutting your legs on that razor wire. It created a wound, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, what would happened if you picked at the scabs on your legs?”

“They would bleed,” Sam replied.

“Right. So Dean picked at his scab, and this time it got infected. So naturally it’s going to take a longer time to heal because why?”

Sam had swallowed and felt like he was being tested, “because the infection has to go away first.”

“Exactly. And how would you treat an infected cut?”

“Well,” Sam had thought, “I would clean it and put a band-aid on it,” and then it clicked, “oh. I get it, Dean’s mutism is like cleaning out a cut. He’s getting rid of everything that doesn’t belong and allowing it to heal before he can take the band-aid off and talk again.”

Dr. Schmidt had smiled and looked at everyone else in the group, “don’t let yourself be confused by what Dean is going through, it’s certainly not his fault and needs to be treated like any other physical injury that a person could have.”

“With love and care,” Sam had said it quietly to himself, but Dr. Schmidt had heard.

“With love and care,” he repeated.

So here Sam was, preparing Dean to leave the hospital, being as loving and as caring as he could be.

Michael had run home and brought some clothes for Dean to change into and he and Mary waited out in the hall while Sam and one the nurses helped Dean get dressed.

When Sam pulled put the shirt Michael had packed for Dean to wear he frowned, he could tell just by looking at it in his hands that it would fit properly on Dean, which wouldn’t have been a problem, but when Sam had first met Dean he had always worn such baggy clothing as to hide his body.

The nurse waited, holding Dean’s gown up and over his chest to keep him covered and Dean looked at Sam curiously.

Without explaining himself Sam shucked his own shirt and donned the one Michael had meant for Dean to wear. Sam had broader shoulders than Dean and stood taller, which meant that Sam’s shirt would have a looser fit on Dean.

He wordlessly bunched his own shirt up, and fitted the collar over Dean’s head. The nurse dropped the gown – keeping it high up on his chest so that Dean wasn’t exposed, which Sam knew he would hate – and helped put Dean’s broken arm through one hole as Sam tenderly cared for the bandaged self-injured arm through the other.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Dean wasn’t capable of dressing himself that made it necessary for the nurse and for Sam to do it, but the fact that Dean wasn’t fond of the idea of going back home and therefore was doing everything in his power to stall it.

After Sam had his side of the shirt tugged down below the blankets bunched at Dean’s waist he leaned over and kissed Dean’s cheek.

Dean responded like a cat, trying to duck his head out of the way even though in reality he really wanted the kiss.

Sam thought it was cute.

“Alright Dean,” Sam spoke as he stood up straight and he lifted a pair of Dean’s boxers from the bag, “either you do this one yourself, or I get to third base today.”

He said it and then had a hard time not smiling at his words. Dr. Schmidt had said to talk to Dean like he normally would…

Dean didn’t say or do anything, but his cheeks flushed red at Sam’s suggestion and Sam was able to interpret the meaning.

He held Dean’s boxers out to him and Dean slowly reached for them. Once the material was in Dean’s fingers Sam let go and assisted the nurse in holding Dean’s blanket over him so that it didn’t reveal anything as he moved beneath it.

Dean brought his legs up and Sam was able to watch them move under the blankets as Dean slipped his boxers on one leg at a time.

“Okay Dean, you want jeans, or sweatpants?” Sam held up the choices.

Dean studied the two articles of clothing and there was a barely perceptible nod of his head when he eyed the sweatpants.

“Sweatpants it is,” Sam said dropping the jeans back into the bag.

Dean had actually let his legs slide over the edge of the bed on Sam’s side, so Sam bent down to maneuver Dean’s feet into place before tugging the pants up. 

Dean attempted to stand so that Sam could hike the pants up all the way to his waist, but he was still a little tired and almost toppled them both over.

Sam chuckled as he reached up to grip Dean’s sides to steady him. “You okay?”

Dean nodded, so Sam reached down to pull the top of the sweatpants up to Dean’s waist.

“Okay sweetheart, I’m going to go get you a wheelchair so you can be pushed out to your car,” the nurse said as she made to exit the room.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sam said quickly. He didn’t have to look at Dean to know that he didn’t want to be pushed around in a wheelchair. “I can help him.”

The nurse only looked at him with eyes that said ‘if you insist’. 

“Okay Dean, you ready to go home?” 

Dean refused to meet Sam’s eyes and only lifted one shoulder in a half shrug as he nervously chewed at his lip.

Sam pulled Dean’s lower lip from his teeth with his thumb and then pecked Dean’s forehead.

“Don’t worry; it’s going to be okay.”

He leaned around Dean and grabbed the bag of clothes Michael had brought, putting the clothes away and zipping it up before he slipped one arm around Dean’s waist.

“You ready?” he asked softly.

Dean didn’t say anything, but his body twitched forward ever so slightly, so Sam started walking with him.

It was slow going because Dean was still kind of tired and was still doing his best to prolong his stay at the hospital, but Sam kept up the slow pace with him. Rubbing his hand soothingly along his side every so often as encouragement and support.

Once out in the hallway Michael took Dean’s bag from Sam and the four of them made their silent way out to the parking lot. 

Dean had turned his body inward, curling around Sam as they walked and Sam kept reassuring him with gentle squeezes, quick kisses to his temple and loving strokes of his hand whenever he felt Dean needed the additional support.

In total Dean had spent just above forty-eight hours at the hospital. Long enough to undergo the necessary 24 suicide watch, for his cut to start healing, for the blood transfusion to finish and for Dean to be prescribed a new list of medications to take every day.

Sam had spent much of the time in the hospital just worried about Dean, so much so that he hadn’t properly taken care of himself. And when they reached Michael’s SUV his stomach loudly reminded him of this fact.

Mary turned her head at the sound of a growling stomach and Sam smiled sheepishly at her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled placing a hand over his lower stomach in hopes of silencing it.

“How about on the way home we pick up some burgers and milkshakes?” she asked.

Sam looked down at Dean’s face, which was still downward admiring his shoes.

“Sounds awesome.”

Sam opened Dean’s door and helping him inside, buckling the seat belt around his uncooperative form and arranging his arms on his lap – his broken arm had been recasted – as it wasn’t yet time for the cast to come off.

He then scurried around the car and got in on his side, immediately grabbing Dean’s self-injured left arm and holding it protectively in his lap. 

“Hey Dean,” he started casually – and Dean turned his head to look in Sam’s direction _cheers of joy!_ “When we get back to your house would you mind if I signed your cast? I never thought of doing the other one, but I’d like to sign this one.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the hand Sam was holding and his fingers clenched and relaxed in Sam’s several times. 

He was aptly staring at his fingers – entranced with them almost – that Sam was about to re-ask his question, and Dean nodded. His eyes were still on his hand and he allowed Dean’s fingers to randomly play with his because it seemed to make Dean feel content and comfortable. 

Michael pulled up to a fast-food drive through and ordered four of the same meals, cheeseburgers and fries – and then proceeded to order two chocolate and two vanilla milkshakes.

As they were pulling away Mary was inserting a straw into one of the chocolate ones and she handed it back to Sam for Dean. 

“You want chocolate or vanilla?” she asked Sam.

“Vanilla.”

She passed the drink back to Sam and he held his and Dean’s drink in his lap, tilting the straws in the same direction before holding them in front of Dean’s face.

“Here, now you can try both,” Sam smiled as Dean stared at the styrafoam cups before him. 

“I’ll try it first,” Sam leaned forward to suck from both straws and hummed as he got a taste of the chocolate and vanilla milkshake.

Dean’s face was much closer to Sam’s in this position so he quickly pecked Dean on the lips before smiling smugly and offering the drinks back to Dean.

Dean licked his bottom lip – no doubt tasting the sugary milkshake taste leftover from Sam’s kiss – and sucked it into his mouth, teeth raking over the skin. There was a small burst of approval that shone behind Dean’s eyes before he tentatively leaned forward and sucked quietly on the straws. 

His cheeks puffed out slightly as he drew in a mouthful and slowly swallowed, before going back to suck on the straws again. 

Sam contentedly held the drinks up for Dean as he drank his way through half of both of them by the time they reached the Campbell’s driveway. 

When Dean drew back from the straws to idly lick at his lips and stare blankly at his own house Sam chased after Dean’s tongue – kissing him sloppily and quickly before getting out of his side of the car and racing around to help Dean out of his side.

Sam watched as Dean’s eyes seemed to unblinkingly stare up at the house as if it were about to attack him. He didn’t need anyone with a degree in psychology to tell him what was going on here. 

Dean was scared.

He was scared about going back to the scene of his crime. Of facing the room – the spot – where he had decided to take his own life. Where he had decided he wasn’t worth it anymore, that all he had in his life was rejection. And it terrified him.

Sam hastily put the milkshakes on the driveway and brought Dean into tight hug. He locked his arms so securely around Dean that the younger teen had no other option than to hug back, face buried in Sam’s chest.

Sam knew that Dean could tell that he had picked up on his discomfort. 

“It’s okay,” he pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, “you’re okay.”

Sam watched as Michael and Mary emptied out the car and took everything inside leaving Sam responsible for Dean and their milkshakes.

He felt Dean’s chest expand and deflate as he drew in a large breath, preparing himself for the idea of going inside.

Sam moved his hands up to Dean’s shoulders and pulled back enough to look into Dean’s eyes.

He didn’t actually say anything, but Dean heard the question, and nodded his response.

Satisfied that Dean was as ready as he’d ever be he grabbed their drinks from the ground and slowly walked Dean inside.

Dean was a little shaky and his lips were open to accommodate for the slightly increased breaths he was taking, but Sam didn’t let it draw his attention. He didn’t want Dean to feel like his discomfort was being broadcast.

So he tugged him over to the couch and sat him down. He kneeled and pulled of Dean’s flip flops and toed out of his own shoes. 

Leaving their milkshakes on the counter within reaching distance he crossed the room and grabbed a blanket and a remote to the TV. 

He then sat on the couch with Dean and manhandled the smaller teen so that he was lying on his back in the ‘V’ of Sam’s legs before he threw a blanket over the both of them.

He tried handing the remote to Dean, but he wouldn’t take it, so Sam turned the TV on and left it on the current station – even though it was playing Wheel of Fortune.

Sam was running his hands over the various parts of Dean that he could touch, watching the screen without actually paying attention, and he could feel eyes on his face.

He looked down to see Dean looking up at him. Eyes wide and coherent with recognition. He could see Dean’s understanding and his trust, his appreciation and love of – and for – Sam, and he could see how comfortable and safe Dean felt in Sam’s arms.

Sam felt a pang in his chest at the realization that Dean – without saying a goddamned word – was telling Sam that he loved him too. 

He arched his back in an awkward way in order for their lips to meet – but it was perfect. Sam kissed sweetly and slow, bumping their noses together as he drew away. And Dean burrowed in further grabbing both of Sam’s hands in his own. 

Sam in turn scooted them both down on the couch so that they were both completely horizontal and was content with watching as Dean’s eyelids got heavier and heavier, before he eventually fell quietly asleep.

He released a sigh of relief. Dean was finally back home.


	11. Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Sam shifted his head around; it was pressed into the arm of the couch he had fallen asleep on with Dean snug in his arms.

He yawned and stretched, looking down at the form of Dean curled up, chest to chest sleeping on Sam as his pillow.

Sam smiled and scratched his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean nuzzled into Sam’s chest and took a deep breath while still asleep. He kept running his fingers through Dean’s short cut hair and was content to watch Dean sleeping soundly on top of him.

After a few moments Sam recognized quiet, hushed voices coming from the kitchen – no doubt the reason he had woke up.

While they were asleep Sam could see that their milkshakes had been thrown away and the TV had been turned off. He could see the clock hung in the dining room through the archway and knew that they had been asleep for only about two hours, and Sam was getting hungry again.

“I don’t care,” Sam turned his head toward the kitchen again as he heard Michael speaking louder before bringing his voice back down again.

Sam could recognize the tone and rushed quality to the words though he couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. Mary and Michael were arguing about something. 

The sudden outburst caused Dean to shift and make an involuntary sleepy moan deep in his throat. 

Sam reached out cradling the back of his head in one hand and rubbing his back with the other. It was only the early afternoon, but he wanted to let Dean sleep for a while longer. 

He continued threading his hand through Dean’s hair and was content with feeling the steady pressure that came along with Dean breathing in while pressed up against his chest.

Sam had never had Dean sleeping on top of him like this before, nor had any of the guys Sam had ever been with slept on him like Dean was now, but Sam was completely comfortable with the position and found that he loved the fact that he felt like he could properly protect Dean like this. 

There was a slight rumbling that Sam felt at the top of his thighs that he recognized as Dean’s empty stomach rumbling. Dean hadn’t been much of an eater before his accident and at the hospital he had watched as the staff struggled to get him to sip at the nutritional shakes they brought to his room. 

Though it was high in calories the milkshake that Dean had drank from wasn’t going to be enough for the day. So he figured he would wake him up and see if he could get Dean to eat something. 

Sam ruffled Dean’s hair with his fingers until he shifted on his chest.

“Dean? Wake up,” he spoke softly and watched as Dean frowned, his eyes still closed.

“Quit fakin’, I know you’re awake,” Sam tugged playfully at the hairs at the back of Dean’s head and Dean popped one eye open. 

“Hey,” Sam’s lips kicked up into a smile as he looked at Dean. “You want to get something to eat?”

Dean didn’t respond verbally but Sam took Dean averting his eyes as a decline to his question.

“C’mon,” Sam sat up and brought Dean with him. Dean turned, his head still relaxed on Sam’s chest and he dug at his eyes with the knuckles visible on his casted hand.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Sam said standing them both up from the couch.

He walked them into the kitchen and Dean followed along like a small sleepy child. 

Mary and Michael were in the kitchen, standing close together as Mary cooked something on the stove and Michael whispered at her back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” Sam called out as he deposited Dean at a stool at the bar countertop in the kitchen.

Dean’s parents turned to look at them and the dropped the conversation they had just been having to focus their attention on Sam and Dean.

“You guys sleep well?” Mary asked with her trademark smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Sam answered for the both of them since Dean wasn’t going to speak.

“Just figured we’d get something to eat,” he said sitting down next to Dean.

“Well you’re just in time,” Mary turned around and flipped off the burner on the stove.

“I just finished making some macaroni and cheese and I added some hot dogs to it, just how you like it Dean.”

“Mmm,” Sam leaned forward and smelled the cheesy aroma wafting towards him, “that your favorite meal Dean?” He directed his question towards Dean, remembering Dr. Schmidt telling everyone that it was important to keep talking to Dean.

Dean’s head bobbed as he confirmed Sam’s question.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had hot dogs in my macaroni and cheese before,” Sam said this to the room at large.

“Dean has loved eating macaroni and cheese with hot dogs since he was in preschool,” Mary spoke as she deposited a bowl in front of the two teens. “The woman who ran the daycare Dean went to always put hotdogs in her macaroni and Dean just loved it.”

Mary leaned on her elbows on the counter as Sam started eating and Dean ran his fingers over the fork that was protruding from his helping.

“I think you’ve had this for lunch every summer since preschool,” she said to Dean as she picked up and ate a slice of hot dog from his bowl. “You should eat that while it’s hot sweetie,” she said before turning around to clean up the mess she had made in the kitchen.

Sam was about halfway through his bowl before he turned his attention back over to Dean. He knew he hadn’t been eating the entire time that Sam had but figured he would give Dean a chance to eat on his own before intervening.

“Hey,” Sam whispered softly getting Dean’s attention. “You eat half of that bowl, just half, and we can go over to my house and go up to my room for some privacy, huh?”

Sam wasn’t trying to make Dean feel uncomfortable with the offer of any sexual activities, and Sam knew that Dean understood that that wasn’t what Sam was trying to do, but the quick blush to Dean’s cheeks and the way he clumsily grabbed his fork in an attempt to eat made Sam think that perhaps Dean was entertaining the idea of doing something other than snuggling and small kisses.

Michael, who had been quietly leaned up against the far counter and watching Sam and Dean, cleared his throat as he suddenly stormed out of the kitchen. 

When Mary didn’t respond to Michael’s departure Sam removed it from his mind and instead focused on scarfing down the rest of his bowl quickly so he could monitor Dean eating his. 

Dean ate seven heaping forkfuls of macaroni and cut up got dog before pushing his bowl away as a sign that he was full – or at least done eating. 

Sam reached out for Dean’s bowl and his lips pulled down in appraisal as he inspected the amount that he had eaten.

“Alright,” he approved of Dean’s efforts, “you want to head over to my house?” he asked as he stood up and cleaned up their plates.

Dean nodded, that slight blush returning to his cheeks.

Sam dropped the bowls off in the sink, “Mary, I’m going to take Dean over to my house for a little while to hang out, we’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay, make sure you guys are back at a decent time so that you can get to bed,” Mary said absently, scrubbing at the top of the stove.

Sam returned to Dean’s side and laced his fingers with Dean’s, running his free hand over the gauze padding wrapped around his scar.

He led Dean through the front door and smiled out at the beautiful day that they were experiencing. The sun was warming his face and he spied a glance at Dean to watch the rays of light turn his blonde head of hair into a golden halo. 

It was Sunday, so Ellen and Bobby were home for the day. Bobby was in the opened garage cleaning some of the tools he had brought home from work and smiled in greeting to Sam and Dean as they approached.

“Hey,” he got up out of his chair and marched over to Dean, encompassing him in a warm bear hug.

Though he didn’t make a sound his large bugged out eyes served as his vocalization of surprise at Bobby’s gesture.

“Ease up Bobby, you’re freaking him out,” Sam said lying a hand on his Uncle’s arm.

“Sorry kiddo,” Bobby stepped away from Dean but stayed in his personal space, hands on his shoulders. “Just good to see you up and around. It was hard looking at you all quiet and hooked up in that bed.”

Bobby dropped his hands and took another step back, unsure of what to say to the teenager who was looking patiently into his face.

“I – uh – I was jus’ cleaning some tools that got a build-up of oil on them. You can stay and help if you want to Dean, I was going to listen to some tunes while I worked on them,” Bobby removed his ball cap and scratched at the thinning hair under his head to signify the end of his offer.

Dean shot a look at Sam, and Sam responded for him.

“Thanks Bobby, but we were going to go up to my room for a bit.”

Bobby didn’t say anything to Sam, but his eyes prompted him to further his explanation.

Sam rolled his eyes; he’d received that look from his uncle plenty of times before. “I have some homework I need to work on before class tomorrow. I have an essay response to write up and a few poems to read.”

“Alright, Dean, if you get bored of watching egg-head read a book you feel welcome to come down to the garage to do _real_ man-things,” Bobby spoke as they stepped into the house.

Dean had an amused smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Sam huffed at him.

Ellen was quietly reading in an armchair in the family room and smiled silently at the boys as Sam tugged Dean up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He pulled Dean into the entrance of his bedroom and stopped him, not allowing him to go further until he clarified a few things.

“Okay, I know you know I’m not going to do anything Dean, but I just wanted to say it outright. I’m only going to work on homework up here. You’re more than free to watch me work, but I just want you to know that I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want me to do.” Sam looked straight into Dean’s eyes. “Understand?”

There was a slight up-turn to Dean’s lips as he blushed and nodded his head once.

“Okay then.” 

Sam turned and grabbed a thick anthology from his backpack where it was stowed at his desk. He had a few poems he wanted to read first before getting to his essay response.

He glanced over his shoulders and saw that Dean was sitting cross-legged at the head of his bed so Sam sat on the free side and opened his anthology to where he had a post-it sticking out.

Dean scooted down the bed and laid his head on Sam’s left hip, crossing his arm over Sam’s lower belly.

Sam smiled and curled his arm around Dean’s shoulders, holding Dean – and the book – in the expanse of his arms. 

He started to read one of the poems until he felt a slight tug on the hem of his shirt.

He looked down into Dean’s waiting eyes.

“What?” 

Dean eyed the book and then looked back at Sam.

“What? You want me to read it out loud?”

Dean’s smile answered for him.

Sam laughed and kissed the crown of Dean’s head.

“I wouldn’t exactly consider Emily Dickinson’s poetry lullaby material, but okay,” Sam had been reading one of her typical death poems, but decided reading her most famous poem of ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ out loud to Dean wouldn’t be appropriate. So he settled on one of her poems that Sam liked, it wasn’t assigned, but he figured Dean would enjoy it.

“Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul –   
And sings the tune without the words –  
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –  
And sore must be the storm –  
That could abash the little Bird  
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land –  
And on the strangest Sea –  
Yet – never – in Extremity,  
It asked a crumb – of me.”

Sam read the poem out loud and looked down to see Dean staring contentedly at nothing, simply listening to the words Sam spoke.

When it seemed to Dean that Sam wasn’t going to continue he tugged on the hem of Sam’s shirt again, prompting another reading.

“Did you like that?” Sam just had to ask.

Dean nodded enthusiastically and so Sam turned the page to a different poem. The difficult thing about Emily Dickinson – that Sam didn’t want Dean to know at the moment – was that a majority of her poems were about death, funerals, and the afterlife, so it took Sam a few moments to find a poem suitable enough to read out loud. 

But he eventually did and after that one Dean tugged Sam’s shirt again. 

So Sam kept reading out loud. 

He would read a few poems, and then recite one from memory. And then he would recall a poem that he figured Dean would like so he would flip pages until he came to it and then read that one too.

He got through about twelve poems until the tugging stopped, and then another fifteen before he noticed that Dean had drifted to sleep. 

Sam spent a few precious moments just running his forefinger lightly over Dean’s features before he picked his book back up and read what he had to for class.

*****

An hour or so had passed and by then Sam had read all of the poems he had been assigned several times. The anthology he was reading from had a short novella in it, so he was idly reading it while stroking Dean’s back. 

He still had to write his essay response, but couldn’t find the heart to disrupt Dean by getting out of the bed to retrieve his notebook to write in.

He thumbed past another page in the book when Dean unconsciously thrust against Sam’s leg.

Sam thought it was just one of those full body twitches that happens when a person dreams, but when it happened a second, third and then fourth time, Sam knew what was going on.

He laid the book down on his stomach and looked down to Dean, who was rutting against Sam’s leg in his sleep.

Sam swallowed thickly as he processed the situation.

Dr. Schmidt had told him to act like he normally would with Dean, but this wasn’t exactly a scenario he had been in with Dean before. 

So he had to think about this as if Dean’s accident hadn’t happened; how would he have responded to this a few days ago?

He bit his lip and decided to just let Dean continue.

Better to let him wake up thinking Sam was ignorant to what had happened than traumatize him further.

Decision made Sam went to go pick up his book and continue reading when Dean’s eyes flew open and his panting breath puffed out to caress Sam’s face.

It was a tense moment.

There was no denying that he knew exactly what Dean had been doing in his sleep, it was written all over his face.

But the thing was that Dean didn’t seem embarrassed by Sam’s knowledge of this. In fact, if Sam didn’t know any better he seemed… _turned on?_

Sam watched as Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he shakily sat up on his knees above Sam.

Dean reached out with his gauze wrapped arm and Sam stopped him.

“Dean, wait.”

Sam sat up straight.

“I know you’re not going to say it, but I need some confirmation here. I _think_ I know what you’re going for here, but I’m not going to go on guesses. If you want to do something Dean I need to you to be explicitly clear here, okay?” 

Sam brushed his fingertips over Dean’s cheek.

“If you want this I’m okay with that. But I need to make sure you want this.”

Dean stared into Sam’s eyes and Sam waited. Breath held. 

Dean lowered his head and reached out to grasp one of Sam’s hands and he tentatively placed it on the warm bulge of Dean’s pants. He then shyly looked up to Sam through his lowered lashes and Sam gasped.

_God, he was beautiful._

So Sam told him. Which made Dean blush.

“Are you sure?” Sam spoke clearly and Dean responded with a confirming smile.

“Okay.”

Sam used both hands to push Dean down onto the bed and he leaned over him. Eyes closed he kissed Dean. 

He put aside the sweet kisses and followed Dean’s lead, tonguing at and sucking Dean’s plump bottom lip – which he had always imagined tasted like watermelon jollyranchers with how swollen and pink it always was – between both of his.

Dean’s hands took a moment to warm up to the idea of touching Sam as it took a few seconds before he felt hesitant hands land softly on his back.

The blushing virginal movements of his hands were in complete contrast to Dean’s mouth which was all confident demanding tongue and nipping teeth which made Sam hard and throbbing in no time at all.

Soon Sam’s head felt all dizzy and light from lack of breath and he had to pull away from Dean before he passed out from lack of oxygen.

He again got that delicious whimper from Dean at the release of his mouth that he had first got when he kissed Dean in the hospital and the sound caused an involuntary thrust of Sam’s hips.

Sam’s movement caused both of their cocks to rock against each other and they moaned in unison.

Dean – who was no longer hesitant, which was fucking _awesome_ in Sam’s mind – reached down and fitted his gauzed arm into the back of Sam’s pants to cup his ass, skin on skin.

His casted hand was much more difficult to worm under the fabric, so he settled it on top of the denim, and then he used both of his hands to pull Sam down and himself up so that he could continue thrusting their cocks together.

Sam moaned and breathed into Dean’s neck as Dean took up thrusting and rolling their straining erections together.

It was hard for him to concentrate, what with the pleasurable things Dean was doing, but Sam eventually found his ability to think and started lapping at and sucking on the pulse point of Dean’s neck.

He would lick and suck all over Dean’s neck before sealing his lips over the tender spot behind Dean’s ear.

Dean had found a great rhythm with their hips coming together in forceful long thrusts, and so Sam allowed him to continue setting the pace.

When Sam raked his teeth across Dean’s neck he actually managed to get a startled gasp from the younger teen, and he also recognized Dean’s thighs squeezing together each time he did it.

So Sam added teeth to his licking and sucking.

He felt himself getting close, and knew that Dean had to be getting there as well.

Sam’s boxers were positively soaked with precome and it turned Sam on even more to think that Dean was in a similar position. 

His balls were pulling closer and tighter to his body and just as he felt himself about to come he bit down where Dean’s neck met his shoulder and thrust down hard.

Dean responded by moving his arms up higher on Sam’s back and crossing his ankle’s over Sam’s lower back, completely hanging onto him.

A few more quick thrusts in this position and Sam was creaming himself in his pants.

“Dean,” he groaned into the pillow beside Dean’s head. 

Dean was right there on Sam’s heels. A few more frantic thrusts and Sam felt Dean buck up and let go of his own orgasm.

But more importantly was that right as Dean lost control his hands fisted in Sam’s shirt and he breathed right into Sam’s ear, a quiet and breathy “Sam,” right as he came.


	12. Take My Hand

If it wouldn’t have been for his rapid breathing and that his body was still convulsing from orgasm the fact that Sam gasped and jerked in surprise would have been more noticeable.

As it was though, the flood of endorphins Sam experienced at Dean breaking his silence at the first orgasm Sam brought Dean to – and that it was broken by saying his _name_ \-- racked Sam’s own orgasm out a few notches and a handful of extra convulsions were tacked on to the end of Sam’s original orgasm.

The added length startled Sam who grunted out at the extra few jerks to his dick.

Sam was on his knees and forearms over Dean and kept his face burrowed into the pillow by Dean’s head.

Dean was still latched onto Sam like a baby possum – arms and legs clinging to his back – and as their chests filled and deflated with their gasping breaths Dean forced their spent cocks to roll together in a deliciously teasing circle. Bringing his hips up and forward, curving the motion, and then letting them fall backwards and down.

Sam found that he loved the motion. Usually if his partner tried to initiate anything right after Sam got off his dick was too sensitive and he usually hissed out at the uncomfortable-too-much contact. Yet somehow, the gentle rocking that Dean was controlling – a rhythmic rocking of the hips, simple rolling pressure along their lengths, instead of hot friction – helped ease Sam down while also gently stoking his arousal.

Eyes still closed Sam moved his head to kiss his way from Dean’s ear, across his cheekbone, and to the corner of Dean’s open mouth.

Dean was still panting and Sam opened his eyes to see Dean staring at the ceiling; his eyes were glazed, cheeks flushed and hair stuck out in weird directions where Sam’s hands had run through – disrupting their normal placement.

He was totally fucked out. 

And hot.

Sam desperately wanted to get him off again – to continue the blissed out relaxed and content look in Dean’s eyes.

And hell, if it got Dean to say his name again was that so bad?

Sam adjusted his stance over Dean; he shifted his knees to rest on either side of Dean’s hips and cupped his palms over both of his cheeks. He allowed Dean to continue rocking their hips together, mostly because it felt awesome, but also because it allowed Sam to kiss and release Dean repeatedly.

Sam would close his lips over Dean’s every time he pulled their hips together and then released them with a wet pop when the pressure on their dicks eased up.

They kept up their calm, smooth motions until Sam felt the familiar throb come back to his new erection.

He pulled back when he got to this point – knowing that Dean had to be in a similar position – and sat up and looked at Dean’s lips, still pouted and expecting Sam’s next kiss. 

His eyes popped open and Sam didn’t need words to hear Dean ask why the kissing had stopped.

“Do you trust me?” Sam asked looking into Dean’s eyes.

Dean looked slightly confused as he bit his plump – jolly rancher – bottom lip, but there was absolutely no hesitation in Dean’s eyes as he nodded.

Sam let a knowing smile slip onto his face – dimples popping out – he pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s lips, “promise you – you’re gonna love this.”

He sat all the way up and scooted down on the bed and ran his hands down Dean’s chest, stopping when they hit the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I’m going to go slow baby, but stop me if you get uncomfortable okay?”

Sam watched Dean’s face as he spoke and so he didn’t miss the sudden flush and barely contained smile when he said the word ‘baby’.

Dean nodded again, bottom lip sucked into his mouth with his anticipated sexual pleasure.

Sam rolled up the bottom hem of Dean’s shirt – mindful of the fact that Dean was self-conscious of the scars on his chest – but he was still able to spy the thin pink scars that came to a fine point a few inches below Dean’s navel.

Sam lowered his face to the sweet strip of pale skin that was revealed. He breathed out warm air and saw goose-bumps appear on Dean’s tummy, and kept a watchful on how Dean’s eyes fluttered whenever he fanned his breath over his skin.

Sam moved slowly, allowing Dean to become accustomed to what Sam was doing and acclimate to his actions.

After Sam was satisfied that Dean was relaxed he moved his finger’s onto Dean’s sensitized skin. He lightly grazed his fingertips across the dip in Dean’s skin above his left hip, and licked his way into the curve mirrored above Dean’s right.

The light touches apparently tickled because Sam heard an involuntary breathy barely perceptible laugh come from Dean.

Sam looked up and saw the laughter and happiness in Dean’s face and changed his immediate goal from giving Dean a second orgasm to pulling as many laughs and giggles from Dean as possible.

So…Sam might have cheated.

He reached high up into Dean’s shirt and dug into the sensitive area on the side of his rib cage. Dean tensed up at Sam’s unexpected movements but when Sam sealed his lips over the tender flesh under Dean’s bellybutton and blew a loud and unchecked raspberry onto his belly he started squirming and laughing.

Dean wiggled his hips around and grabbed playfully onto Sam’s hair, lightly tugging at the soft strands to give the illusion of trying to dislodge Sam’s lips but enjoying the sensations too much to actually be trying to stop it.

Sam moved his lips around Dean’s lower stomach and hip area blowing giggle-inducing wet raspberries into Dean’s skin; he nosed his way down an inch past the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants and blew a raspberry into the curly hairs that surrounded the base of his swollen cock.

That earned him a satisfying groan.

His hands were still reaching higher and higher on Dean’s sides, distracting Dean by tickling him still, so Sam was able to grab the loose waistband in his teeth and tug the cotton material down far enough to expose the tip of Dean’s come slathered cock while Dean’s light-hearted laughter filled the room. 

Sam pressed his warm tingling lips to the shiny blood red head of Dean’s cock and Dean responded with a gasp and a pleasing tightening of his fists in Sam’s hair.

Sam’s tickling followed by the unexpected contact of Sam’s mouth on Dean’s cock head melted all of the remaining tension that had been left in Dean’s body.

His thighs which had constricted around Sam’s shoulders on instinct fell away and left plenty of room for Sam to work. He glanced up to see Dean’s eyes closed, his eyelashes dark and full fanned out over his pale cheeks and his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

He ghosted his hands back down Dean’s sides and placed another soft, warm kiss to the hard tip of Dean’s dick.

“This okay?” Sam asked voice rough and low.

Dean nodded – eyes still closed – and pushed Sam’s head down.

He didn’t speak, but Sam heard the message of _stop talking_ loud and clear.

Sam smiled at Dean’s response and sat up a little higher on his elbows to slowly tug Dean’s sweatpants and boxers down. None of his movements were quick or unexpected because he refused to do anything to scare Dean, never again.

Sam kissed and mouthed at all of the flesh that was exposed. Laving over the skin and sucking at the fleshier bits, just enough to bring the blood to the surface and to make Dean’s groin even hotter.

He slicked up the area surrounding Dean’s cock with his tongue, and nipped at the juncture of Dean’s hip and thighs. Dean’s skin felt warm and slippery and when he finally had Dean’s sweats down far enough so that Dean’s entire cock and balls were exposed he fanned his hands over the ‘V’ of Dean’s hips and rubbed his thumb in enticing circles in the sensitive dip of muscle.

Dean’s good hand was fisted in Sam’s hair, and the cast on his broken hand occasionally clunked against Sam’s skull whenever Dean instinctively went to grab the hairs. Even though it was awkward for Sam to do at first he propped up his right elbow and leaned on it so that he could lace his fingers with Dean’s even as they clung to the hairs on his head. 

Sam moved his mouth to the base of Dean’s cock and tried to wrap his lips around – of course he wasn’t going to be able to, but that wasn’t the point – he stuck his tongue out to reach what his lips couldn’t and rolled his neck as he brought his mouth from base to tip.

When he reached the head he closed his mouth over it, hallowed his cheeks and sucked hard while pulling off – making an obscene popping noise.

Dean groaned and crossed his ankles over the back of Sam’s shoulders.

That made him laugh. He honestly wasn’t doing that because he thought it would feel good, but more or less because there were globs of Dean’s come still covering his dick and he wanted to lick it clean.

Sam replaced his lips at the base of Dean’s dick – from a different angle – and repeated the process. Cleaning up the lukewarm come leftover from Dean’s first orgasm.

Normally Sam wasn’t the one to go down on whoever he was with, it wasn’t that he wasn’t a fan of blowjobs, he certainly enjoyed receiving them, but it was more or less because it never really turned him on to have someone stick their dick in his mouth.

He had never once before looked at another guy and thought about sucking them off. That just didn’t turn Sam on – but just in the process of cleaning Dean’s dick off Sam found that he was more painfully hard now than he was when their lengths were pressing together…and he didn’t even have it in his mouth yet.

Sam looked up to Dean’s face, his eyes were closed tightly and his mouth was still open in a silent pant.

“Dean,” Sam called out and Dean opened both of his eyes to look at Sam.

“I love you,” he said quickly before dropping his head and taking Dean into his mouth.

“Sam!” Dean cried out in shock at the wet heat of Sam’s mouth enveloping him.

Spurred on by Dean’s outburst Sam bobbed up and down quickly. Dean wasn’t by any means small, but Sam was doing his best to take in as much as Dean’s length as possible. After working up a good rhythm Sam punctuated his bobs by forcing Dean’s dick into his mouth as far as possible, ignoring his gag reflex every time the tip of Dean’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Dean wasn’t saying any more words at this point, not that Sam thought Dean was capable of it even if he was able to talk. All Sam was getting out of him now were half-heartedly suppressed moans and long drawn out ‘oooohhhhh’s’ whenever Sam did something that Dean found agreeable.

Sam pulled off a few times to suck in a huge breath before plunging back down. A few tears leaked out of his eyes at the effort of trying to force something so large down his throat, but Sam was nothing if not determined.

After a few failed attempts at deep-throating Dean Sam sucked in a large breath and tried once more. This time he held his breath and when the tip of Dean’s cock hit the back of his throat he made an effort to stick his tongue out – and he was finally able to successfully take Dean in all the way.

The slick way that Sam’s throat sucked Dean in was shocking and Sam had to press down on Dean’s hips to keep him from bucking up out of Sam’s control.

At this point Dean was leaking precome all over Sam’s tongue and he loved the salty taste as it oozed out onto the back of his tongue.

Sam pulled off with a wet slurp and ran one of his hands up and down Dean’s length quickly a few times before he took another deep breath and went in once again.

This time Sam was able to relax his throat enough so that he was able to press his nose into the soft hairs at the base of Dean’s dick, and Dean’s ball were snug on either side of Sam’s chin.

Once secure Sam did something completely unexpected to the both of them – he started humming the chorus for Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’.

The vibrations caught Dean’s dick in Sam’s throat and by the time Sam hit “ _take my hand_ ” in his humming Dean was empyting his dick down Sam’s throat.

At the first spurt Dean pulled tighter at Sam’s hair and so Sam had to fight off Dean’s one good hand in order to get back far enough so that the last few shots ended on his tongue, as he was eager to get a taste of Dean’s come when it was warm and fresh.

On twitchy and unsupportive limbs Sam climbed back up the bed to Dean’s mouth. Their kiss was made between too much panting and Sam’s spit slick lips stuck to Dean’s dry ones.

Dean hummed at the taste of himself in his mouth and Sam had to collapse onto Dean because he was just too fucking done.

He ended up sprawled out legs and feet entwined with Dean’s and panting hard into Dean’s ear.

“That was – that was incredible,” he managed to get out after a while.

He rolled off of Dean and pushed Dean over to his side – hiking his sweats up -- and bringing Dean back to be spooned into Sam’s chest. Sam tucked one arm under Dean to keep him close, and held Dean’s left hand securely in his. 

Dean could feel Sam’s heart pounding against his back, and that made him smile.

Sam kissed at Dean’s cheek – eyes closed and exhausted – and murmured directly into his ear. “I’ve never, _never_ shot off like that before Dean.”

Dean turned his head to see better into Sam’s eyes.

“I’m serious; I came in my pants untouched just because I had you in my mouth Dean. _That_ was incredible.”

Dean’s face broke out into a satisfied and loving smile.

Sam dropped his head to the pillow that they were sharing and nuzzled into the hairs at the back of Dean’s head.

When his heart had settled and he was drifting off to sleep he felt Dean shifting around in his arms. He opened his eyes to see Dean’s green orbs staring back at him.

Dean brought up his gauze-wrapped self-injured arm and placed it lovingly on Sam’s cheek, content to just stare into Sam’s eyes for a moment.

He opened his mouth, then licked and bit at his lower lip, and finally opened his mouth again before saying the best thing that Sam had ever heard.

“Sam, I love you.”

Sam felt his eyes tearing up as he kissed Dean and pulled him closer, tucking Dean’s head under his chin.

“Love you too, Dean.”


	13. In Parting From You Now

Sam could have held Dean in his arms until the next morning, but as he opened his eyes – nose buried into the hairs at the top of Dean’s head – he noticed that his alarm put the time at a little after eight.

“Dean?” he smoothed his hand through Dean’s hair.

He had fallen into a light sleep something – and Sam had picked up on this during their hospital stay – that Dean had a tendency of doing whenever there was a lack of stimulation to keep him awake.

“Dean?” Sam rubbed circles into Dean’s back while he grumbled into Sam’s shoulder.

He pecked Dean’s forehead as Dean worked to wake himself up. Sam pulled a face when he slid off the bed at the less than comfortable feeling in his jeans that came along with continuing to wear them after creaming yourself – twice.

He popped the button on his jeans and stripped out of them and his boxers as he walked to his bathroom. He wet a towel and cleaned his soft penis and between his legs before rewetting the towel and stepping back out to offer it to Dean.

Dean had rolled over and was propping himself up to stare at Sam – one eyebrow quirked.

Sam was one hell of a sight at the moment, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and socks. His shirt hung low enough to cover his balls but Sam’s dick poked out a few inches under the hem of his shirt.

Sam looked back up to see a small amount of amusement coloring Dean’s eyes.

“Oh shut up,” Sam huffed sitting on the edge of his bed, but making no attempt to cover himself up.

“I’m a grower not a shower.”

He held up the towel for Dean to see – “you want to compare what they look like soft?”

Dean’s cheeks reddened and he hastily took the towel from Sam’s fingers, “that’s what I thought.”

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” Sam said as he stood from the bed and went to one of his dressers as Dean’s good hand and the towel disappeared into the crotch of his pants to wipe himself down.

Sam turned back around holding up a pair of sweatpants.

“You want to borrow some boxers?”

No.

“Gonna go commando?”

Yes.

“Alright,” Sam slipped on a pair of shorts he had grabbed and tossed the pants onto the bed.

“I’ll wait out in the hall while you change – go ahead and throw your dirty clothes in my bathroom, I’ll wash them for you.”

Sam kissed Dean’s brow as he sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the sweats Sam had pulled out for him and then stepped out of his room so that Dean could change in privacy.

Dean came out of Sam’s room a short while later running his hand through his hair, trying to get it to lay flat.

“Here, let me,” Sam licked his palm and ran his hand over Dean’s head to fix the hairs.

Dean squirmed his head away from Sam, scrunching his lips and turning his head – he was like a kitten being cleaned by its mother.

Sam grabbed Dean’s jaw, “hold still,” he murmured.

He licked his hand a second time to finish smoothing down the hairs and then licked Dean’s cheek while he was distracted.

Dean pulled away at that and pawed at the wet spot on his cheek – shooting a glare Sam’s direction, who just smiled and laughed.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Sam wound his arm around Dean and led him downstairs.

Bobby and Ellen were watching TV in the family room – well, Ellen was watching TV – Bobby was asleep in the recliner.

“You guys going to bed?” Ellen asked, knowing that Dr. Schmidt had encouraged Sam to sleep in the same bed as Dean as part of his recovery plan.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning Aunt Ellen,” Sam said waving at her before towing Dean through the front door.

The sun was just starting to go down as they walked toward the Campbell’s front door and seeing Dean being lit up by an orange sunset compelled Sam to press his lips against his temple; it wasn’t quite a kiss, it was more or less gentle pressure, an intimate reminder that Sam was here to take care of him.

Dean smiled shyly in response and laid his head slightly on Sam’s shoulder.

They stepped through the front door and walked in on a similar scene that they had just left behind at Sam’s house.

“Hi,” Sam said, greeting Dean’s parents.

They stopped at the entrance of the family room, where Sam fully intended on sleeping with Dean on the couch.

“Hey,” Michael stood and walked over to them, “Sam, d’you mind coming into the kitchen with me for a moment?”

Sam was a little confused by what Michael wanted to talk about, but followed after Michael nonetheless.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Sam asked once in the kitchen, knowing that Michael had pulled him away from Dean to talk.

“I know that Dr. Schmidt suggested that you and Dean share a bed while he’s overcoming this latest incident, but I think it’s better for Dean in the long-run if he learns to sleep in his own bed – alone.”

Michael said all of this as if it had been rehearsed and with a look on his face that made it clear that he didn’t expect arguments on the matter.

However, Michael Campbell had never faced off against Sam Winchester before.

“With all due respect _sir_ , I don’t think that’s a great idea at all. Leaving Dean alone now is only going to solidify the notion Dean has that we’re rejecting him and make it harder and longer for him to fully recover.”

“I understand your concern Sam, but Dean needs to do this on his own – he can’t be creating unhealthy attachments to – _friends_ – to get him through this.”

Michael’s hesitation over his words clarified everything for Sam in a matter of seconds.

This wasn’t about Dean being dependent on someone, this was about Michael being uncomfortable about having a gay son, and nothing Sam said – no matter how logical – would sway a homophobic parent into allowing their gay son to sleep in a bed with another gay boy.

Sam couldn’t argue to stay, he unfortunately knew that much, but as for Dean being in his room…

“I at least think Dean should be on the couch, he’s more comfortable on that and I don’t think he needs the reminder of what happened up in his room.”

Michael shook his head.

“I had his room cleaned, he’s sleeping in his bed tonight,” he spoke with a tone of finality, daring Sam to say something.

“Fine,” Sam’s jaw was set tight – it was hardly fine – “I’m going to go tuck my _boyfriend_ in for the night.”

Sam turned and walked out of the kitchen, just barely catching a glimpse of the shock and discomfort on Michael’s face.

He had fought John Winchester for sixteen years, so he was more than capable in taking care of himself by declaring war on the likes of Michael Campbell.

*****

Dean had been waiting patiently for Sam and his dad to finish talking, and hadn’t moved from the family room entry way where Sam had left him.

His mom did get up from the couch and made her way over to Dean, wrapping him in a quick hug.

“Did you enjoy your time over at Sam’s?” she asked softly.

_He got me off twice mom, once by rubbing off on me and once by taking me in his mouth. It was the single greatest experience in my life._

Dean nodded.

Mary paused for a moment to stare at something she found on Dean’s left shoulder, and he knew exactly what she was looking at. He had seen the unintentional (or was it intentional?) purple hickey Sam had given him on his neck.

Even though they both knew she saw it, knew what it was, and where/who it came from she didn’t say anything. What also went unsaid was the fact that he was very obviously wearing a pair of Sam’s sweatpants.

And it was times like this that Dean couldn’t come up with the proper words to express just how much he loved his mom – said or unsaid.

Because he knew that his mom wasn’t stupid, that she was more than capable of putting two and two together, but not only did she not say anything, but there wasn’t that glint of judgment that would have passed through his Dad’s eyes if he would have come across the same facts.

Sam stormed in from the kitchen and grabbed Dean’s good hand in such a way that Dean wasn’t sure that Sam had intended on letting go.

“I’m going to take Dean up to bed Mary,” Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean’s mom on the cheek, “goodnight.”

“Oh,” Mary had been startled by Sam’s gesture – startled, but flattered – she laid a hand over the cheek Sam had kissed and her cheeks turned the slightest shade of red, “goodnight boys.”

Dean was apprehensive about going upstairs. More than apprehensive. He was terrified.

Sam got him onto the first step of the stairway and Dean froze, turning huge glassy eyes to Sam in his attempt to tell him that this wasn’t okay, that he wasn’t okay with this.

“I know Dean,” Sam’s voice was soft and sad, “I know you’re scared, but your Dad says you have to,” Sam rubbed his hand along Dean’s lower back.

Even with the ‘why’ explained Dean still didn’t want to, but he knew how stubborn his dad could be, which meant that this wasn’t an option up for debate.

He turned back and faced the stairs, knowing that his bedroom was at the top and to the left; he knew he had to get up those stairs, but at that moment he really didn’t have the strength to.

Dean’s entire frame began to tremble and before he could get his knees to lock up he was collapsing on the stairs, white-knuckling the railing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sam repeated as he held Dean up from falling to the ground.

Dean turned in Sam’s arms and wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, pleading him to not let go, to hold onto him until he was no longer scared.

“I got you Dean,” Sam ran a hand up and down Dean’s spine and clutched at the back of his head, cradling it next to his.

“Here,” Sam pulled back a little and adjusted his hands to the back of Dean’s thighs, “lift up baby, I’ll carry you.”

Dean was still shivering and scared but he was able to bring his legs up high enough for Sam to scoop him up and wrap Dean’s legs around his waist.

All Dean had to do was keep himself securely latched onto Sam, face buried in his neck, and Sam would keep him safe.

“Better?” 

Dean nodded, fisting his hands at the back of Sam’s shirt.

If he wouldn’t have been so terrified at the idea of going back to the spot where he had tried to make the biggest mistake of his life he would have been impressed by how easy it was for Sam to carry them both up the stairs.

As it was though Dean was concentrating on the steady heartbeat he could feel emanating from Sam’s chest, and the feel of Sam’s large hands cupping his lower butt and thighs to keep him in place.

Though he couldn’t see where they were Dean could feel when Sam walked through the doorway and when they had entered his bedroom. It smelled of a really strong chemical cleaner, which was reassuring – it meant that Dean’s carpet had been cleaned during his hospital stay – but didn’t do much to lessen Dean’s anxiety.

Sam lowered them both to the edge of the mattress; sitting on the edge with Dean curled around him on his lap.

Sam didn’t push him – which he was grateful for – and simply ran his hands over Dean’s body as Dean worked to calm down.

After a while Dean felt safe enough to lift his head and press his forehead to Sam’s, but he kept his eyes closed, it was his way of saying that he was getting there, and just needed a few more minutes from Sam.

Sam understood, and placed a small kiss to Dean’s lips while they waited for the thundering beat of Dean’s heart to finally come into step with Sam’s.

When that happened Dean opened his eyes and released a pent up breath of air. He was good, or at least better than he had been.

“Okay?” 

Dean nodded and kissed Sam this time.

_Thank you, I needed that._

Sam returned Dean’s kiss and then stood up again, an evil smirk on his face.

Dean wasn’t able to react quickly enough to Sam who turned and threw him down onto the bed.

Dean in turn laughed as he bounced on the mattress and didn’t put up a fight when Sam sprang and landed on top of him.

He did, however, start pushing at Sam’s shoulders and turning his head away from the older teen when Sam decided to lick along Dean’s cheeks and neck.

That tickled however and kept Dean laughing until Sam decided to silence him by latching his lips onto Dean’s.

Dean hummed into Sam’s mouth.

_This is awesome, we need to do this all the time._

Sam responded by biting at Dean’s lips and proceeded to make out with the teen trapped under him until they were both panting for breath.

“Here’s the thing,” Sam said as he rolled over so they were facing each other on their sides.

“Your dad isn’t letting me stay the night,” Sam said softly, fingers playing in Dean’s hair.

Sam let that hang in the air for a moment, most likely judging Dean’s reaction.

He couldn’t say he was surprised. Dean knew that while Michael had put up with Sam sharing his bed in the hospital that he wasn’t likely to let the behavior continue when he had returned home.

Dean had expected this.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Dean lowered his eyes and knocked his forehead into Sam’s.

_It’s okay Sam, it’s not your fault._

Sam sighed, not happy at all that he didn’t have more power over the situation.

“But I’m going to stay with you at least until you fall asleep. Okay?”

Dean looked straight into Sam’s eyes.

_Okay._

“Alright,” Sam pulled Dean closer and turned him around so that Sam was spooning him, then kicked at the blanket at the foot of the bed until he could pull it over the top of them.

He placed a hand over Dean’s heart, trying to sooth him into sleep without getting too wrapped up in him so that it was easier for him to slip out of bed once Dean had fallen asleep.

The quiet of the room was too permeating, and so Dean reached behind him for the hem of Sam’s shirt and gave it a slight tug.

_Say some poetry for me?_

He heard Sam chuckle behind him and then adjust so that his lips were pressed right against Dean’s ear so that his breath fanned out over his ear.

“Alright, let’s see. Hmmm,” Sam nosed at Dean’s ear while he thought. 

“Take this kiss upon the brow!”

Sam broke away from the poem for a split second to press a kiss into Dean’s brow – which made Dean smile.

“And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow –  
You are not wrong, who deem  
That my days have been a dream;  
Yet if hope has flown away   
In a night, or in a day,  
In a vision, or in none,  
Is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar  
Of a surf-tormented shore,  
And I hold within my hand  
Grains of the golden stand –  
How few! yet how they creep  
Through my fingers to the deep,  
While I weep – while I weep!  
O God! can I not grasp  
Them with a tighter clasp?  
O God! can I not save  
One from the pitiless wave?  
Is all that we see or seem  
But a dream within a dream?”

Sam finished that poem and then several more before he softly said Dean’s name.

At the lack of a response Sam pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple once more and then slowly withdrew from Dean’s bed before leaving.

Dean had heard Sam say his name because he was still awake. But he knew that Sam was waiting for him to fall asleep, so he faked it, knowing it was best if Sam left quickly.

He swallowed thickly at the idea of being stuck in his room all night and clenched his eyes closed to the darkness around him.

Dean held onto the feeling of Sam being pressed up close behind him, but it wasn’t enough.

That was the night that the nightmares started.


	14. Lay Your Sleeping Head My Love

Sam woke up at his normal time. 

It was Monday morning and he unfortunately had his college class today. Weekdays for Sam, however, always started with a morning job. Part of that could be credited toward his father. Growing up Sam was always being forced into military training exercises. But running was the only thing that stuck. It was a great way for him to clear his head and do his thinking so that he was more mentally prepared for the day.

The topic so obviously on Sam’s mind that morning was Dean.

It had been a physical torment for Sam to leave Dean’s bed the night before and the guilt had kept Sam up all night long – which was the reason behind Sam pausing three separate times to yawn while in the process of tying his shoes.

He stepped out onto the front porch and breathed in the morning air. It was muggy. The summer had been producing damp cool temperatures at night, and some uncomfortable and humid mornings. Knowing how sweaty he would get later, Sam stripped out of his shirt and walked to the end of the driveway wearing only his running shorts.

He was wearing an older pair today, ones that were kind of short and exposed too much leg, but the cuts on his legs, including the one that had required a few stitches, had been itching lately and he didn’t want the fabric of his shorts rubbing them as he ran.

Once at the end of the driveway Sam began to gather his hair at the back of his head, combing it together with his fingers until he could get his trademark ponytail going.

He then started on his stretches.

Just as he was standing up from a toe touch he glanced over to the Campbell’s house – he was still thinking about Dean and how he slept during the night.

The house’s windows were all dark but when Sam studied the front window that led to the family room he could see the flickering lights from the television as one of Dean’s parents watched the morning news. If Sam squinted and looked hard enough he could just see the back of the couch that was pressed up against the window.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at that.

Had Dean woke up early enough all those mornings that he had slept on the couch and looked outside he could have seen Sam as he stretched at the end of the driveway before his morning run.

That idea really kind of made Sam happy.

He jumped up and down a few times to loosen up and started off on his run. 

*****

About half an hour later Sam was back – walking this time – he wasn’t able to finish his run, as straining the muscles in his thigh pulled at the stitches on his leg and was quite painful.

Sam was still sweating bullets though – thanks to morning humidity – and went to the front porch to grab his shirt and wipe himself down.

He was just about to head inside for a shower when another thought struck him. With a grin Sam draped his sweaty shirt around his neck and marched over to the Campbell’s front door. 

It was unlocked so he let himself in.

He heard sounds from the kitchen and made his way into the room, knocking on the wall of the archway as he stepped into the space.

Mary looked up as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Oh, Sam! How are you this morning?” she asked taking a tentative sip.

“Leg’s are a bit sore from the stitching,” he said raising his leg slightly to run his finger over the area in question, “so I wasn’t able to get much of a run in.”

“Well, it certainly looks like you got sweaty enough. Would you care for a glass of water?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Mary poured Sam a drink and set it in front of the bar stool Sam had eaten at last night.

“So do you know how Dean slept last night?” he asked sitting down.

That earned him a long sigh.

“Well he was awake when I went to go check on him. I’m not sure when he got up but he was sitting on the floor by the foot of his bed wrapped up in his blanket. I was about to bring him up a breakfast shake, but if you’d like to try I know you’ll get better results,” she smiled.

Sam smiled sadly.

He figured Dean wouldn’t have slept well – if he did at all.

“Yeah, I’ll go see him.”

Mary handed him a thick shake that looked like chocolate milk and Sam went up to Dean’s room.

Sam had the pleasure of passing Michael on the stairs and Sam’s chest may have puffed out a little as he greeted the man with a salute and a huge grin that accompanied his “morning sir.”

Michael seemed taken aback by Sam’s presence, state of undress and sweaty appearance.

Mission accomplished.

All of the good feelings associated with making Michael feel uncomfortable went away as Sam opened Dean’s bedroom door.

Dean was huddled on the floor in the blanket that had been at the foot of his bed and he looked small. It was like he was trying to make himself as invisible as possible, and had it not been for the tufts of hair that poked out from where his head was he would have succeeded.

Sam set the shake down on Dean’s desk and kneeled in front of the mass of fabric.

“Dean?” Sam said as he reached into the blankets.

He started to slowly unwrap him, layer by layer, until he was finally able to see Dean’s face.

His eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and stared into Sam’s face and his jaw worked furiously at his bottom lip which was bleeding from Dean’s constant biting.

Sam reached up to remove Dean’s lip from his mouth and the second his skin made contact with Dean’s he broke the shell of calm Dean had apparently placed himself in.

His breathing became labored mixed with intermittent whimpers, he was positively vibrating and with what little motor function he had Dean violently wrenched himself away from Sam.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean’s re-casted hand came out of the nest of blankets and connected with Sam’s head as Dean hit at Sam while trying pathetically to crawl away.

“Dean! Dean! It’s just me!” Sam tried to talk calmly as he fought with Dean’s arms.

Dean’s movements were hindered by the fact that he could hardly control his limbs and that he was still stuck in the blankets, so Sam used that to his advantage.

He sat up on his knees and used his long limbs to wrap around Dean, blanket and all, and forced Dean in between his chest and the foot of his bed. 

Trapped in Sam’s arms Dean was no longer able to fight or try to get away, but he was still shaking and whimpering as his eyes darted about the room.

This – this confusion as to where he was and who was there – was not something Dr. Schmidt had covered in his instructions to Sam and Dean’s parents. He wasn’t entirely sure how to get Dean to calm down.

For starters Sam figured he would get Dean to calm down and stop shaking.

“Hey,” Sam cooed, “it’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Sam repeated a cycle of these words and similar ones. He closed his eyes and nosed at the shell of Dean’s ear softly and slowly, rocking the two of them as he spoke until the worst of Dean’s shaking and whimpering stopped. 

Once that happened Sam tightened one arm around Dean’s body and used the other to try and maneuver Dean’s head to rest against Sam’s chest, right over his heart. 

Dean flinched when Sam’s palm touched his cheek and the whimpering and shaking started all over again.

And so did Sam.

It took a few tries of calming Dean down and then attempting to touch him before Sam was finally able to lay his hand over Dean’s cheek without Dean pulling away or making any scared noises.

Not wanting to push it Sam just ran his thumb over Dean’s cheek bone; letting him acclimate to his touch before applying slight pressure in trying to coax Dean’s head against his chest.

Dean started at the light pressure at first, but when Sam reassured Dean that everything was okay and ran his thumb over his cheek a few additional times Dean calmed down long enough to get his head where he wanted it to be.

When Dean’s ear was finally placed over Sam’s heart Sam could feel all of the tension leave Dean’s body and he had to quickly readjust his arms to keep Dean held up. 

He held Dean like that for a long time before he felt like he could get away with pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and when he did he held his face there. Smelling Dean’s warm sugary smell and using it to reassure himself.

Sam had continued rocking Dean the entire time he held him, and was satisfied when he realized that Dean had fallen asleep in his arms. He knew that his calming Dean down had a lot to do with that, but had to fight back a few tears at the realization that Dean probably hadn’t slept during the night without Sam beside him. 

He hadn’t slept all that well, but at least he had actually slept a little while. 

Sam sighed.

He had class today, but that wasn’t until much later. Worst case he’d just skip it though, Dean was much more important.

With Dean asleep he had an easier time untangling him from the blanket he had wrapped himself in, and once that was done Sam was able to heft Dean’s limp form into his arms so that he could stand up and bring Dean to his bed. 

Sam was cradling Dean to his chest and sat at the edge of the bed – planning on scooting his way toward the middle so he could settle Dean in next to him – when he felt a dampness seep through the back of his shorts.

He released one arm from around Dean and felt behind him on the sheets.

A large wet spot took up the entire center of the bed.

Sam brought his hand back and smelled his palm.

There was no denying what that smell was.

Sam started to cry as he held onto Dean impossibly tighter.

It all made so much sense. Dean being on the floor, how distraught and disorientated he seemed. At what point during the night had Dean’s nightmare started and how long was he forced to suffer in it before Sam could provide him some semblance of relief?

He pushed his face into the hair at the top of Dean’s head and let his tears fall into his hair. 

He was _never_ letting Michael win again.

*****

Dean woke up pretty confused. 

He felt safe and warm, which was not how he had been feeling a short while ago. The last time he had been awake all he could see was _him_ , all he could feel was _him_ , all he could smell was _him_. 

Even now he could feel his slimy breath as it fanned out over his face as he –

Wait a minute?

What was that?

Dean rolled his head toward the warm surface it was pressed against and he could hear a rhythmic beating coming from it. It sounded like a heartbeat.

That was nice. Soothing.

It meant he wasn’t alone, and the touches weren’t harsh or painful, and he could feel that he was wearing clothes, which meant that it wasn’t _him_ , and knowing that – well that was all that was important.

But there was something else, another noise, this one much deeper and less regulated. He could feel it, but he could also hear it coming from just above him. But it was faint, like he was under water or something.

He strained to catch a few words.

“… another one, not really one of my favorites, and I can only remember the first stanza, but if you like it I can look it up for you.” 

He heard and felt Sam clear his throat.

“Sorry, throat’s getting sore.”

Then there was a pressure on the top of his head.

A kiss?

“It’s by – well that’s not important. But here it is –

Lay your sleeping head, my love…”

Oh. 

It was Sam.

It was Sam saying poetry for him.

He failed to hear most of that poem as he drifted back to sleep, content in the knowledge that with Sam the nightmares would stay away.


	15. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps backwards to detail Dean's nightmare.

Dean lay stiff on the bed. The warm spot Sam had created had cooled long ago and he was stuck shivering under the covers alone. He kept tugging his comforter higher and higher up on his body while trying to wrap his arms around a spare pillow, just so he didn’t feel so _alone_.

He was afraid of falling asleep – he really was – and though he didn’t fall asleep entirely his nightmares clawed at his consciousness; peeling back his layers of defenses until he was naked, and they feasted upon his humiliation and fear. 

He reached a hand up to brush at his hair – it was his broken and casted hand, which was a mistake – and he moved too quick like he always did with that arm and clubbed himself in the head. And right there – that pain – that _recognizable_ pain – mixed with his fear, his anguish, and there was no one there to help this time as he was dragged back, and forced to relive every moment, the pain and the fear very real as his mind broke him even further.

*****

Dean ran three miles every day before school. It wasn’t some crazy exercise routine, far from it actually, because he would eat a cheeseburger and chili-cheese fries for breakfast if his mom would let him. 

No. The reason Dean ran was because it helped him focus in school, it left him with a normal amount of energy for the day and made it easier to focus. He wasn’t an expert in the subject, but he’s pretty sure that he had ADHD – he was only pretty sure because the running worked in such a way where it wasn’t a problem that manifested. It worked. And so he ran.

There was another reason Dean did it too. He ran cross country and track in school, not that he cared about sports, but he was good at it. And because he was good at it his Dad actually showed up to a few of Dean’s meets. The feeling he got when he did a good job and saw the swelling pride on his father’s face…well, it was unexplainable. It was also enough to convince the other parents and runners that all was good. But that pride would soon deflate, because it wasn’t Michael’s son who was a good athlete, it was Michael’s _gay_ son, and apparently that made all the difference. 

That hurt Dean a lot. Knowing that no matter how good he was at something, or whatever it was that he amounted to, that nothing would make up for the fact that he was gay. That in his father’s eyes Dean was somehow subhuman. 

It was to the point when even if his dad said something that was borderline praise Dean had to ruin it.

“That wasn’t a bad time you had there,” his dad would say.

And then on the end of it Dean would add _”for a gay kid”_ in his mind.

Yet despite his father’s obvious disapproval of Dean’s life choices he had to try. Had to keep on going with the hope that one day, someday, his father would be proud of him. Would really truly have that grin on his face and say, “that’s my son,” and say it without the need to stress his sexuality.

That was the hope.

But for that morning it was just practice. Another day leading up to the one that Dean longed for.

He had just finished lacing up his shoes and was doing some stretches on the driveway. It was an easy route that he ran in the mornings; he jogged down to the end of the street in his subdivision and took a service road into the back way through town. There he would run down all of the streets, crossing his own path as he ran on the paved sidewalks.

He didn’t mind running in town, it always gave him something to look at as he flew by shop window displays, but he wasn’t the one who had decided that running in town was best, that had been decided by his mom. She wanted him to run in town because it was safer for him to do so. 

She was always fearful about the fact that Dean was relatively small for his age and that he liked running early in the morning before it got too hot out. So to ease her mind he ran where there was sidewalks, streetlamps and – more importantly – people to watch out for him. 

That morning was just going to be a short run for Dean. The end of the school year was upon him, just another two weeks until summer vacation, and though there were still Track conferences going on Dean’s school hadn’t qualified, so he only had Cross Country in the fall to look forward to. 

He loosened his arms up, swinging them around a few times, and pushed off to start his run. 

It was always a peaceful time in his subdivision. Right before the husbands all woke up and either meandered to the end of the driveway in robes to get the morning paper, or to make their way to their SUV’s with a thermos of coffee to drive off to work. 

There was no one out to stare at Dean, no one to gawk at the gay kid as he took off on his morning run. But unfortunately, that meant no witnesses as to where he went either.

Sure. His mom knew that he ran into town and back. But she didn’t actually know what the exact route was.

Dean didn’t think about that. He was content to just go on his morning run like he always did, just like he always waved at and smiled whoever he came in contact with. 

He raced past the older woman who lived above the old-school ice cream store in town as she read her newspaper on her front step.

“Morning Missus Hansen!” he called out long before he reached her.

“Morning sweetheart!” she had to half-shout after him as he ran past.

He turned the corner. He was just coming up on the second half of his run, where he turned about and crossed over where he had just run when he came up on Dana Turner hauling a cabinet in through the garage door to his shop.

“Oh, Dean!” he called out having spotted the teen dash around the corner. “I know you have a run to finish but do you think you could help me out a moment?”

Dana stood up and shuffled a little ways so he stood out on the sidewalk with Dean.

“Sure,” Dean breathed heavy as he stopped, hands on his hips, “whaddya need?”

“Well I just got a job in, need to refinish this cabinet here, but my back is giving me hell this morning, and I can’t get it over this lip in the floor on my own, can you step inside and pick up that end and move it back while I push?”

Dean licked his lips and narrowed his eyes in appraisal.

He knew Dana Turner. He went to church with his aunt Dakota. Dean could never forget a face in that church, because the last time he had been there, about two months after he had come out he went with his aunt one morning to the service, and was promptly told by most of the members present that he was condemned to burn in hell for eternity for his sins. 

Dean wasn’t one of faith. He more or less went to church with his dad’s sister because she was the only member of his dad’s side of the family who hadn’t ostracized him for being gay. He liked hanging out with her, and if that meant accompanying her to church every so often then he would muddle through it. After that morning he hadn’t gone back.

He hadn’t been kicked out per say, but telling a Catholic congregation that God had better things to worry about then whether or not Dean liked dicks hadn’t exactly left a crowd eager to welcome him back. 

He still hung out with his Aunt, but in far less religious circumstances.

That incident had happened a few years ago, and while Dean was sure that Dana Turner still recognized him he figured that the fifty plus heavy-set man before him wasn’t that much of a threat.

“Sure Mr. Turner,” Dean answered the man’s proposition and stepped inside, “where do you want me to lift fro--.”

Before he could get his question asked a resounding crack could be heard as something hit Dean’s skull with a terrifying amount of speed and strength.

*****

Dean woke up in a matter of seconds.

He had been out for a time, sure, but the sharp pain at the back of his skull pulled him into painful consciousness.

He groaned and shifted his head, and then had to fight off a bought of nausea as the pain in his head made him alarmingly dizzy.

Though it hurt to look at the light Dean cracked an eye open and looked around the room. Naked wooden rafters were visible sprouting out of the floor and a collection of dusty wooden furniture littered the space. A telltale window shape left a beam of sun in a hexagonal pattern on a dresser by the foot of the bed. 

He was in Dana Turner’s shop attic.

Just at the recognition of where he was, Dean felt a piercing pain at the side of his neck, he jerked a hand up to slap over the spot when someone grabbed it and forced it and his other hand to the headboard.

He fought with Turner pulling his arms away from the man but found that as the seconds ticked by that it became harder and harder to control his movements, before it became impossible.

By that point his right arm was curved in a painful way in the metal decorative pattern of the headboard and both his right and left hands were tethered together.

He couldn’t even fight it or get his mouth to work as whatever Turner had given him worked through his system and left him unable to move, and after a few more minutes his ankles were tied to posts at the foot of the bed.

Dean didn’t know what Turner was working up to exactly, but he didn’t need an imagination in order to assume what was going to happen.

That fact made his lower lip tremble as he fought off crying.

Despite his efforts a few tears escaped and Dean closed his eyes, trying to remain calm.

He felt a dip in the bed on his left side and heard shallow breathing a few inches from his face. A few more tears escaped.

A meaty hand reached up and grabbed roughly at Dean’s jaw angling his face to better look at the man – but he dared not open his eyes.

“Hey!”

Dean’s eyes shot open, wide with fear and the rest of the tears he had managed to work up fell from his eyes.

Dana Turner’s face looked like one of cold concentration. His eyes studied Dean for a moment before he spoke again.

“Gonna save you,” he said, squeezing his hand around Dean’s jaw and forcing Dean’s lips to pucker out.

“You got a demon in you, and I’m gonna get it out.”

He let go of Dean’s jaw roughly.

Dean tried to speak. Tried to get out a few garbled words, but he couldn’t get his tongue to work.

Turner walked over to what Dean could see was a tool box and he heard a snick as a pocket knife was extended.

He came back to the bed, wielding the sharp blade and Dean tried so hard to struggle as Turner reached for his shirt.

Turner sliced away Dean’s clothes, ripping off the bits of his shirt that were left before giving the same treatment to his shorts, then his boxers.

Dean felt humiliated tears prick his eyes when he was finally exposed completely; there was nothing he could do to cover himself up. To keep his naked body from being seen by Turner’s disgusted eyes.

Turner deposited the knife back in his tool box and then sat in a chair placed by the bed.

He was the epitome of cool confidence.

Whereas Dean had started shaking and hadn’t stopped.

“I want you to listen to me boy. This ain’t your fault.”

Dean managed a whimper and turned his head away from the man next to him.

“Demons are always the cause of evil. And you’re no exception.”

A pause.

“Demons are the ones who made you this way. Made you think that you could love another man.”

Dean’s head lolled back at that and Turner caught his eyes.

“I knew you would agree with me, I can see in your eyes your struggling and your confusion. That’s the demon in you boy, convincing you to commit acts of sin.”

Turner stood up and removed something plastic from his back pocket.

“But I’m here to save you boy.”

And with that came the click of an opened box cutter.

Turner reached forward and quickly pressed the blade into Dean’s chest, drawing his lines in Dean’s flesh as the young boy attempted to struggle or force him away.

All he managed to do was gasp at the pain and cry.

When Turner was done Dean was unable to see what had been carved into his chest, but he knew it was large. The cuts were fairly deep, and his blood dripped down his sides into the mattress. The smell of his own blood filled the air and Dean became sick all over himself. 

He was just happy at the moment that his own vomit hadn’t choked him.

Until the acids from his stomach bile hit the scars that were higher up on his chest. Then that pain alone would have made choking to death worth the trouble.

Turner couldn’t have been bothered with Dean’s sickness. And made no move to clean it up.

He instead walked away from the bed and started for the stairs.

“I would like to finish this right now,” he said, “but I have a few customers coming in to the shop today who I need to attend to. So I’ll let you sit for a while until I have time to come back and work on you.”

And with that he left.

*****

In his bedroom, safe and at his home Dean’s eyes searched around the room. His arms and legs were tangled in his comforter, disrupting his movements. And he cried.

The nightmare had happened in the past, but that didn’t keep him from reliving every morbid detail.

*****

Turner was furious.

Dean had sat and watched as the man performed exorcism after exorcism on him. Pouring what he was sure was supposed to be Holy water over his body multiple times. The only reason Dean had appreciated the buckets of water was because it helped to wash his vomit away from his stinging cuts. 

That was at first.

Unfortunately for Dean the water had been ice cold, and after sitting soaking wet on the frigid mattress for several hours he was now shivering uncontrollably and from what he could see the tips of his fingers and his lips had turned blue. 

He had tried crying out. But whatever it was that Turner had given him had kept him from moving or speaking properly. The man hadn’t touched him after cutting into his chest, and so Dean kept retreating to his mind, trying to think of everything, anything good in his life that he could hold on to and keep the panic away.

That was when Turner started talking to him.

“Why the hell do you think this is right?” the furious man hovering over his bed asked.

Dean watched with large scared eyes as he walked from one side of the bed to the other.

“God has said that it is a sin for a man to lay in bed with another man, and yet you choose freely to do so. I’ll tell you why that is,” he continued as if Dean was answering him. 

“Demons.”

He spat the word.

“They’re crawling around you boy. Making you a vessel of nothing but pure evil. You’re corrupted.”

Turner stopped and shot Dean a cold glance, “don’t believe me?”

He said looking into Dean’s wet, green eyes.

“Then try and figure this one out. Where are your parents? The ones who love you? Swore to protect you?” Turner flung his arms out. 

“They’re not here!” 

“And you know why that is? Because they don’t give a damn about you. A damn _queer_. I’d even bet to say your daddy is happy right now. Drinking to the fact that you aren’t there to _stain_ his life. To RUIN IT!” he bellowed, and Dean managed to flinch away at the loud spoken words.

Turner took in the way that Dean was able to move his body around again and changed tactics. 

He started taking off his belt.

Dean’s eyes zeroed in on Turner’s hands as he removed his belt and doubled it over in his fist. Making a perfect whip.

“How old are you boy?”

Dean was still having a hard time speaking, and couldn’t answer Turner’s question.

“I asked you a question boy!” 

Turner punctuated his words by cracking his belt over Dean’s exposed groin. Leaving behind bloody welts that the doctors would find later.

“S-ss-ixt,” Dean managed to get out.

Turner nodded his head. “Sixteen years you ruined your parent’s life by committing sin. You’ll get each in kind for your repentance.”

He brought his hand up and cracked it down over Dean’s blood smeared chest. 

_Crack!_

The pain radiated out from the spot that was hit. White hot. Like an iron poker that had been left in the fire was pressed over his skin.

_Crack!_

Dean cried out at the feeling of the belt cutting into his flesh.

_Crack!_

He couldn’t hold back a fresh onslaught of tears that made their way down his face.

_Crack!_

The pain was unbearable, but what was worse was the fact that Dean could _feel_ the blows opening up the cuts on his chest.

_Crack!_

And now he could feel the familiar rush of blood running down his sides.

_Crack!_

Dean tried a new tactic. Holding his breath and releasing just as he heard the whistle of the belt through the air, trying anything to diminish the pain of the blow.

_Crack!_

That only succeeded in Dean losing his vision for a split second as the nonexistent air was forced form his lungs and he fought for breath.

 _Crack!_  
   
 _Crack!_

_Crack!_

Dean tried to turn his body away as the blows started coming down faster.

“You just earned yourself two more boy, move again and I’ll keep going till the belt breaks.”

Dean listened to the warning and took the rest of the hits without moving away.

_Crack!_

He was right. Dean deserved this.

_Crack!_

No one loved him. Only his parents, and look what that love had got him so far? Nothing. No one to save him when he needed them most.

_Crack!_

He was going to die up here. And no one cared. That fact alone made Dean cry all the harder.

_Crack!_

His mom would be upset. She had always loved Dean, so very much. But she would get over it in time surely. His father would see to that.

_Crack!_

Michael on the other hand would put on the mask of mourning when they found him dead. He wouldn’t actually be that broken up to find out that his son had been killed. Murdered actually.

_Crack!_

Dean deserved this. God. He deserved to die.

_Crack!_

Even if he didn’t die in that attic how could he live after this knowing just how horrible he was just by _existing_.

_Crack!_

And then it was done. Eighteen strikes over Dean’s chest. All because he chose to love people of his own gender. 

Dean watched, struggling to remain conscious, as Turner ran a hand over the blood that had collected on his belt.

If he was demon possessed for his decision to love another man, then Dean knew that Dana Turner had to be possessed for his discriminatory hatred of a person he barely knew.

Dean was crying silently. His eyes stung with tears and it hurt to breath, as expanding his lungs pulled at the torn flesh.

He wanted his humiliation to be over. He wanted the pain to end. By any means at this point. 

He watched as Turner sat in the chair next to the bed. Running a hand over his face in his exasperation.

“I’m going to save you. I’m going to cure you boy.”

The older man looked off in the space and saw something that pleased his eye.

He got up and retrieved an old broom that was propped up against a piece of furniture. He ran his hand lovingly over the curved end and stared directly into Dean’s eyes, having decided on his next course of action.

“If you’re so determined to sleep with another man then I will purify you,” he split the broom in half over his knee, “with your own blood if I have to.”

He tossed half of the broom away and held up the splintered handle up so Dean could see it from where he was on the bed.

Turner came over to the bed, kneeling between Dean’s knees. One hand held the broom handle and pressed the splintered end to Dean’s entrance, the other came up and rested most of Turner’s weight onto the hand pressing onto Dean’s windpipe, cutting off most of his breathing and forcing him to the edge of consciousness.

“I’m going to cure you.” he spoke almost reverently as he pressed the splintered handle even harder.

Dean could feel the man trying to force the splintered wood into him. 

But patience isn’t a crazy man’s virtue.

Turner’s hand jerked upward, driving the broken handle into Dean.

And Dean, brought to the brink of pain and on the verge of passing out from Turner’s other hand had to feel as his body was broken into with violence.

And that – that – was when Dean wet the bed.


	16. Flutters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came into being because I hated myself for what I wrote in 'Nightmare', so I decided to come up with a virtual hug for myself and my readers.

Dean had been violated.

He had been raped with an object meant to hurt and humiliate him. And the man who did it to him saw to it that Dean’s blood was spilt as much as possible. 

There were periods during the relentless thrusting where Turner put a little too much pressure on Dean’s windpipe – closing it off so that Dean couldn’t breathe and he eventually passed out.

Once. On the morning of the third day Dean didn’t put much of an effort into breathing, allowing Turner to close his breathing off until he was able to blissfully pass out.

It was a promise of escape.

It was his way to get away from the pain that came along with Turner forcing that broom handle into Dean’s bloodied and torn hole. From feeling as Turner’s hand collected the blood that fell away from his body and rubbing it all over him. From hearing Turner saying how he was purifying Dean, bleeding him of his sins. 

He’d had enough.

He just wanted it to be over. To be gone. To be safe from that fear. That pain.

That’s when he woke up – with the barest amount of strength to breathe. Turner’s lips brushing against his own, as he forced his breath into Dean’s body.

He couldn’t do anything to get away. 

And that’s when nightmare collided with reality.

Dean’s frustration and resolve to just quit mixed together and back in his bedroom he was able to roll off of the mattress, pulling a blanket down on top of him. His eyes were opened and stared about his empty and dark bedroom, but all he could see was Dana Turner’s attic. 

He had broken out of the endless loop of reliving what had happened to him, but he couldn’t break away from seeing it in the room around him.

So when Sam entered his bedroom all Dean could see was Turner. Hurting him and choking him, and when he went too far under, there was his breath, leeching out over his skin to give him back life as Turner whispered how Dean just had to hold on. Just a short while longer until the demon inside of him had been purged.

It wasn’t until the steady beat of Sam’s heart resonated in his ears and hearing Sam speak softly to him that Dean’s subconscious realized that he was truly free, that the nightmare was just that. 

And he slept.

*****

Sam had been upstairs with Dean a long time. 

Michael had come into the kitchen where Mary was sipping her morning coffee and he had a tight look to his face. The one that said he saw exactly how Sam was dressed – or rather, undressed – and that he didn’t like the idea of Sam and Dean being together at the moment, but that he couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to keep them apart.

Mary knew that Michael didn’t hate Dean, or Sam. But that he just didn’t get it. Couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of his son being gay _or_ having a boyfriend.

Truth be told, Mary had taken quite a while to get used to the idea herself. That was until she took the time to sit down and talk to Dean about it a few weeks after he had first come out with his stunning revelation. 

He had known for quite a while before telling either of his parents. She remembered sitting down with thirteen-year-old Dean, eating a burger at a diner they visited on rare occasion. 

She had only been poking at her salad before she simply said “why?” and Dean had understood. 

Mary had to remind herself just how old her son was when he placed his burger back down on his plate and grabbed her free hand. 

“Mom,” he had said, “you know those flutters you get when you see Dad and you remember just how much you love him?”

“Yes,” she had answered.

“That’s why.” 

Dean had then squeezed his mom’s hand and went back to eating. And from that day forward Mary had never questioned why.

Mary had always associated those flutters to her knowing that no matter what she could always count on Michael to take care of her and Dean. She didn’t know if Dean knew that, but for years she had explained to Dean that love was that feeling you get inside of you that makes you all warm and tingly – like the flutters she got when she looked at Dean’s dad. 

Whether Dean knew the specifics behind Mary’s feelings or not he had explained himself anyways. He loved boys. And Mary was okay with that.

Michael huffed out a sigh and got up from the stool where he was nibbling on his toast. 

“I’m heading in to work early,” he said and didn’t wait for an answer as he left.

That left Mary alone in the kitchen, still wondering how the boys were doing. She set down her cup and crept her way upstairs to Dean’s bedroom to check. 

His bedroom door was still open so she walked in quietly and looked on at the peaceful sight that greeted her.

Sam was cradling Dean to his chest and sat on the floor with his back against the side of the bed. His face was dropped down so that his lips were pressed against the top of Dean’s head. 

Dean’s free hand was clutching Sam’s shirt, which had been put on at some point, and he was sleeping soundly in Sam’s arms.

Sam had dozed off as well.

The sight warmed Mary’s heart. 

She grabbed Dean’s blanket off of the floor by the foot of the bed and draped it over both boys. 

Sam roused a bit at the sensation and opened sleepy red rimmed eyes to look up at Mary. She smiled and bent over to kiss Sam on his forehead. 

“Get some sleep Sam,” she spoke. Confident that Sam probably hadn’t fared much better during the night than Dean had.

Sam smiled and wrapped his arms tighter around Dean, cupping his face and tucking Dean’s head under his chin.

Mary went to go walk out of the room but stopped to spare a quick glance back at the boys, _her_ boys. 

She changed her mind then. Dean might not have known it at the time, but she was confident that thirteen-year-old Dean knew what those flutters were for.


	17. The Deal

When Dean woke up, like _actually_ woke up, it was to him wrapped up like a burrito in his blanket on the couch in the living room. 

His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick and he felt slightly sweaty at being wrapped up so tight. He poked his head out from the nest of fabric and peeked into the room. He was alone at the moment, though he had distinctly remembered the sound of Sam’s voice carrying him off into sleep. 

He couldn’t see Sam anywhere now though.

“Sam?” he called all groggy as he tried to sit up without slipping off the couch.

Sam’s head poked through the archway leading to the dining room. 

“You’re up,” he said with a smile. “Hungry?” Sam asked bringing a protein shake into the room with him.

Dean nodded.

He hadn’t actually been hungry for a while, but he could definitely tell that his stomach was yelling at him at the moment. Demanding food.

Sam wedged himself onto the space that Dean’s head had just vacated and helped Dean to prop himself against Sam’s side as he fed him his drink through a straw.

Dean kept trying to get himself upright so that his weight wasn’t leaning on Sam quite so much and Sam caught on. He placed Dean’s drink to the side and got off the couch to help untuck the blanket from around his legs so that he could sit up without the risk of slipping down into the bowels of the blanket nest Sam had created around him.

Dean noticed that the sweats of Sam’s he had been wearing were replaced with a pair of Dean’s own shorts. He frowned at that. He couldn’t remember why he had needed to change into shorts.

Sam handed Dean the drink.

Dean sipped through the straw as Sam leaned back against the arm rest and pulled Dean onto his lap. Dean went willingly. At first he was just content to be held in Sam’s arms.

Then when he went to move it felt restrictive.

And immediately Dean had remembered his nightmare, the one that had felt so vivid and real. He dropped the glass onto the ground, where it cracked and sloshed out onto the rug.

Sam, who hadn’t been prepared for Dean’s outburst jerked at Dean’s sudden movements and then clambered after him onto the other side of the couch to restrain his flailing arms.

“Dean! Dean it’s okay! You’re okay!”

Sam fought to get his hands to Dean’s face and to force him to look into his eyes.

Dean was stuck on the fact that he felt like throwing up what little he had managed to drink as phantom pain started to radiate from between his legs.

“Dean?”

Dean looked up into Sam’s calm hazel eyes and felt himself hyperventilating.

“Dean what’s wrong?” Sam asked as calm as he could manage.

He tried to communicate with Sam, tried to get him to understand what he needed from him like he had been able to for the past few days, but his blind panic at having his nightmare permeate his conscious memories kept him from communicating. Kept him from reaching Sam.

So he just held onto him and allowed himself to be held until the panic attack had subsided.

Sam put soft arms around him and stroked at his hair, cooing words that didn’t matter but were soothing all the same. 

When Dean finally felt his panic ease away he folded himself into Sam’s lap. Demanding to be held.

“You okay?” Sam asked with his nose pressed to Dean’s ear.

He had been expecting a nonverbal response and had to hold himself in check when Dean responded with a weak voice.

“Nightmare.”

Sam smiled at the break-through of Dean speaking something other than Sam’s name or in the bliss that followed an orgasm, and then it washed away as the meaning of Dean’s single word sunk in.

“Last night?” Sam asked already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay Dean, I’m here, and I’m never leaving you again.”

Dean felt some of his tension melt away. He wasn’t sure how Sam was going to pull that one off, but he trusted Sam enough to know that it was the truth.

Dean pulled away from Sam’s chest and looked up into hazel eyes.

“Sam?” he asked, finally able to communicate better without a panic attack spurring him on.

“Yeah?”

Dean plucked at the shorts he was currently wearing.

“I um, need to clean up that shake,” Sam removed himself from under Dean, “before it stains or your mom’ll be pissed.”

Dean watched as Sam collected the glass and moved into the kitchen before coming back with supplies to clean up the spilled drink.

He knew what had happened to him during that time spent tied to the bed in Dana Turner’s attic and what his reaction had been. If he’d had a nightmare of it the night before he was pretty sure he knew why his shorts had been changed. But leave it to Sam to refuse to say it out loud.

Dean smiled.

He knew there was a reason why he loved him. 

*****

Sam finished cleaning up the mess and brought everything back to the kitchen.

When he came back Dean was curling right back up in the blankets he had left. He had managed to change Dean from his wet sweats and wash the sheets of Dean’s bed while he was asleep on the couch, so he knew that he couldn’t possibly have been tired. Dean probably just needed some warmth and comfort at the moment.

Dean had successfully wrapped himself back up into the blanket as Sam bent over and dug his hands underneath him to scoop the burrito wrapped Dean off of the couch and into his arms.

After a lighthearted yelp Dean started laughing and threw an arm across Sam’s shoulders as he was carried into the kitchen and deposited on one of the barstools.

Dean was still smiling as he righted himself on the stool and watched Sam walk around to the other side of the counter, placing both hands on the surface as he leaned forward and considered Dean.

“Here’s the deal,” Sam said seriously, “you’re going to eat,” his eyes were locked onto Dean’s, “and I’m going to make you.”

Dean frowned and sighed.

“Hey,” Sam spoke softly so Dean looked up at him. “I know you aren’t hungry, but you need to eat baby.”

Sam knew how that word got to Dean, and selfishly used it to his advantage. He would do anything -- _anything_ \-- to get Dean to eat. It hadn’t been that long since Dean’s accident and already Sam could see the weight loss that had affected him.

“How about a deal?” Sam asked which peaked Dean’s interest. “For everything you do that I want – which is eat food – I’ll do something that you want.” Sam stared into Dean’s eyes for a moment. “What do you want me to do Dean?”

Dean’s lips puckered in thought and they rolled together as he considered what he wanted. 

“You want me to read you a poem?” Sam offered.

Dean shook his head.

“You want me to kiss you?”

A blush. But another no.

“Any ideas?”

Dean just shrugged.

“Okay then, how about this.” Sam cleared his throat as he thought out loud. “You finish eating whatever it is that I make you, every bite of it, like lick your plate and everything,” Sam but couldn’t help the smile that formed when Dean rolled his eyes. “And I’ll surprise you with something.”

Dean considered this, and then slowly nodded his head.

Sam leaned across the counter and gave a quick kiss to Dean’s lips.

“I should warn you,” Sam said as he turned around and began searching through the pantry and fridge for possible food options, “I suck at cooking.”

He chuckled at the grimace on Dean’s face.

*****

In the end he opted for the most calorie inducing thing he could possibly make. He skipped over the cheesy microwavable burritos in the freezer knowing that anything that processed wouldn’t sit well in Dean’s tummy, and didn’t want to go for anything too sweet, so skipped over the idea of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He opted for something that he actually enjoyed eating himself. A chicken quesadilla.

He maximized the meal by using two tortillas instead of just folding one in half like he usually did, and heaped a large handful of cheese onto the tortilla at the bottom of the skillet. He tumbled in some diced chicken before depositing even more cheese and the top tortilla on. 

Sam looked back to smirk at Dean and noticed the set to his jaw that told Sam just what Dean thought about the amount of food he was making for him. It was a lot. But for what Sam had in mind he could have easily made Dean eat a four course meal.

After a few minutes he flipped the whole thing, showing off to Dean by lifting the pan and using the wrist flick technique he had learned from Andre, the cook at his Aunt’s bar, in order to toss the quesadilla into the air where it flipped and landed perfectly back in the pan.

Sam set the pan down and looked back at Dean. He could tell that he didn’t want to, but Dean was impressed.

Sam just smiled and went back to watching the food cook.

When it was all done Sam slid the quesadilla onto a plate and cut it into manageable triangles. He deposited the plate in front of Dean before retrieving a bottle of ranch from the fridge and squeezed and obscene amount of the white dressing onto the plate. 

Sam set the bottle down and pointed at the plate. “Dressing counts too,” he said with what he knew had to be the biggest fucking grin on his face as he folded his hands on the counter and smiled at Dean like he was some sweet innocent kid.

Dean’s lips were pressed together so hard that they were white – he was trying so hard not to smile.

 _I fucking hate you._ Is what Sam interpreted.

“Love you too,” he said smarmy smile back in place.

Dean looked up at Sam through his lashes. Fake anger in his eyes.

With a resigned sigh he reached out and picked up a piece. A long strand of cheese led from that piece back to the plate and Sam reached forward to assist in breaking the strand and wrapping it around the piece Dean was holding.

Dean dragged it through the dressing and took a hesitant bite.

His lips were painted white for a moment as he chewed before a flash of pink appeared to wipe it away.

Sam’s tongue played out over his own lips watching it.

Dean’s eyes had diverted to the plate as he chewed that one bite – slowly – before he swallowed and looked back up at Sam. 

He shrugged.

“Oh shut up,” Sam said grabbing his own piece, “it’s delicious and you know it,” he said tearing into what he was holding.

Dean just smiled and kept nibbling away at the triangle he was holding.

Sam turned around – shoving the over-hot quesadilla bit into his mouth as he did so, and then immediately regretting it as his mouth popped open and he breathed out all of the hot air – as he set about cleaning the mess he had made in Mary’s kitchen.

By the time he had scrubbed down the pan, and the utensils he had used as well as put away all of the ingredients he had used Dean was on his third slice of quesadilla. 

Sam figured he would eat another one – as he only usually ate half of what he had made for Dean – but stopped there. Dean had hardly eaten lately and needed all of the food he could get.

He watched as Dean slowly made his way through the rest of the plate. 

And damned if Dean hadn’t eaten every bit – dressing and all. 

“So proud of you baby,” Sam said kissing Dean as he retrieved the plate.

Dean smiled and blushed in triumph. His eyes asking what his prize was as Sam made his way to the sink.

“S’a surprise,” Sam said to Dean’s inquiry. “Gotta find a good time to give it to you.” He said washing Dean’s plate.

Dean frowned and wrapped himself up in his blanket, content to watch Sam for the moment.

When Sam finished with all of his domestic duties he came over and plucked Dean off of the stool. If it wouldn’t have been for the giddy feelings Dean got every time Sam carried him somewhere he would have made him stop. It wasn’t all that manly to be lifted like that, but Dean couldn’t make himself care all that much.

Sam threw Dean onto the couch and Dean laughed as he bounced – he really had a thing for Sam throwing him around like that. 

Sam bent over and kissed Dean. Sucking on his bottom lip and licking it over and over until Dean opened his mouth for Sam to explore.

Sam hummed as he licked into Dean’s mouth. Caressing his tongue and sucking on it. Dean reached up with his good hand to grab at Sam’s hair but somehow Sam recognized it and intercepted his hand – twining them together and playing with Dean’s fingers before he finally pulled back. 

Dean nuzzled down into the comfortable padding on the couch as Sam looked down at him with reverence in his eyes. 

“I need to run home and grab some stuff for class,” he bent down and pecked at Dean’s lips. “But I’ll be right back.” Another kiss.

Sam smiled as he stood up straight and walked away.

Dean listened to the front door open and close, knowing that Sam would be back in just a few minutes.

He snuggled deeper into the warmth of the couch and stretched. He was warm, loved and well-fed. Nightmare aside he felt great. 

He glanced around the room and his eyes landed on the clock in the dining room. His parents would be home from work in an hour. And his Dad, well, no matter what Sam promised Dean knew his Dad would have the final say on whether or not Sam could stay the night. 

A weary sigh escaped him as he pondered the thought of another night alone, without Sam. He wasn’t entirely sure he could survive it.


	18. The Confrontation

An hour’s time later saw Sam and Dean curled up together on the couch. Dean was actually allowing Sam to read his assigned poems this time – because he was well aware that Sam had skipped class that day – and therefore didn’t demand anything be read aloud to him. 

Sam wasn’t about to deny Dean something that he loved, however, and so he had decided to lay out on the couch, Dean was laid out on top of him, his back to Sam’s chest, and Sam held the book propped up on Dean’s chest. That way they could both read the pages together.

It wasn’t quite the same as having Sam read things aloud to Dean, but Sam could tell that Dean really appreciated it.

Dean was a little bit slower at reading than Sam was, and so on occasion when Sam went to turn the page Dean would catch it with his fingers and finish reading before they would turn the page together. 

It was such a corny situation, and they weren’t even reading anything all that interesting, but Sam would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this moment with Dean. Wrapped up on the couch and comfortable. The bottom corner of the book placed on Dean’s rounded tummy, and Sam just glowed knowing that it meant Dean had actually eaten a decent amount recently. 

He was content to lay like that with Dean for the rest of the night, not talking or communicating, just being together. 

However, Sam was planning on starting a potentially explosive conversation with Dean’s father once he returned home from work, and so knowing that, he was soaking up the peaceful moment so he could use it to keep calm later when he needed it.

Sam and Dean heard the sound of the garage door opening at the same time. Dean’s hand faltered in reaching up to turn the page with Sam, but Sam acted like the sound meant nothing to him. If anything it made him snuggle Dean’s head under his chin more securely. Like he wasn’t about to let Dean go no matter what happened.

Dean could feel the atmosphere in the room change when the door connecting the house and the garage was opened and his dad entered the house. He became frighteningly aware of how he was situated on the couch with Sam. It wasn’t like they were having sex on the couch, he knew that, but it still felt like they were doing something dirty or wrong when his dad looked into the room.

One of Sam’s hands released the edge of the book to curl around Dean’s chest to pull him closer as he pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. 

It was such a sweet gesture. One that told Dean that it was okay, that he didn’t have anything to feel bad about.

Dean swallowed and did his best to focus on the words on the page and not his dad who was surely studying the two teens on the couch as he loosened his tie and threw it onto the dining room table.

He cleared his throat and Sam and Dean both looked over to where he stood. 

“Hello boys,” Michael greeted them with a forced smile.

“Sir.”

Dean and Michael both seemed to be expecting something, but Sam seemed almost too oblivious to the uncomfortable moment as he pressed another kiss into Dean’s hair and turned the page on his book.

Michael dropped his gaze and shuffled into the kitchen. They could hear him opening some cabinets and the fridge and moving things around. 

Dean tilted his head up to look into Sam’s eyes upside down.

The question in them was clear.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said reaching up to lightly tickle Dean’s nose with the pad of his finger, “I’ll take care of it.”

Dean frowned but went back to reading. 

A few minutes later Michael appeared back from the kitchen. His suit jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up. He was carrying a plate in one hand and two bottles of juice in the other. 

“Didn’t know if you guys were hungry, so I made some sandwiches, PB&J,” he announced.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

Dean smiled.

Michael smiled, genuinely this time, and reached down to ruffle Dean’s hair. 

“Hair’s getting kinda long there Dean, you gonna cut it sometime soon?”

Dean shrugged. He usually got his hair cut every six weeks at the little barber shop in their old town. He wasn’t sure who he was going to let cut his hair now that they had moved. It was getting kind of long though, and while he admired Sam’s long wavy locks he had really grown attached to his own spiky hair. 

“I can cut it for you if you’d like?” Sam offered. “When I lived with my dad he always kept with the strict military do’s and I was the one to cut my hair and his. I usually only did buzz cuts, but I think I could tackle your head with some scissors.”

That made Dean smile – something that his father didn’t miss – and he nodded to Sam’s offer.

It seemed that Michael was being forced from the moment the teens were having and so he sat down on the coffee table and started up a conversation with Sam.

“I didn’t know your father was in the military.”

Sam shrugged, “he was with the Marines, so I grew up traveling around a lot.”

Dean attempted to sit up on his own as he was reaching for one of the juice bottles, and he accidentally placed his hand on Sam’s groin while pushing behind himself to get up.

“Careful there Dean,” Sam admonished him with a chuckle, swinging his leg down from the couch as he grabbed a sandwich off of the plate and held it within Dean’s reach.

“I never really liked the lifestyle,” Sam continued on despite the fact that Michael looked less than comfortable with the fact that he had literally witnessed his son groping Sam – accident or not.

“So two years ago when I’d had enough of being at new schools I demanded to live with my aunt and uncle.”

“How did your dad handle that?”

“Well,” Sam sighed, “he didn’t like it at first. Like for months at first. He almost didn’t let me go, saying that it was better for me if I grew up with a close relationship with a branch of the military, but we got into an argument about it. And my dad might be a stubborn as hell Marine, but when I set my mind to something it’s kind of hard to get me to let it go.”

He said that and all three men heard the hidden message. 

Sam wasn’t about to back down.

“Well, I bet your father just had your best interests at heart.”

Michael wasn’t about to go out easily either.

The tense moment was making Dean feel uncomfortable, so he did something that he knew would break the tension clinging to the air. 

He broke off a piece of the sandwich that Sam was holding and shoved some of it into his mouth. 

Lo and behold. It worked.

Michael smiled and Sam ran a supportive hand up and down Dean’s arm a few times. 

With the moment passed Michael stood up and took a few steps toward the kitchen. Sam called out to him before he could get too far.

“Michael, Dean wanted me to stay for dinner, if that was okay with you?”

Michael curled his lips together, Dean likely hadn’t said a damn thing about dinner, but the hopeful look in his son’s eyes kept him from turning the idea down.

“Sure Sam, that’d be great.”

*****

It was another half an hour before Mary came home from work. 

At that point Michael had started defrosting some ground beef to make burgers and had stepped outside to start up the grill on some potatoes he had covered in tin foil, and Sam and Dean were reclined on the couch watching TV.

Mary came into the house and descended on her boys first.

“Hey guys, how was your day today?” she asked stepping over and kissing them on their foreheads without any shame.

Dean ducked his head and blushed at the display and Sam just lit up with his full powered dimpled smile.

“Great. We took a nap, I worked on some homework and I got Dean to eat an entire chicken quesadilla for lunch.” Sam announced.

“Really?” Mary said impressed while looking at Dean.

Dean scowled at Sam.

Mary had no doubt that Sam probably had used less than truthful tactics to get Dean to eat that much, but if it worked then she wasn’t one to complain about a method that brought about results.

“See if you can get him to eat dinner,” Mary said casually as she walked into the kitchen.

“Will do!” Sam said, chuckling at the pout on Dean’s face.

After a few more minutes Sam got up and left Dean at the couch watching TV. When Dean had turned questioning eyes up to him Sam leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Just gonna step outside and talk to your dad.”

Sam walked into the kitchen and spied Mary chopping up vegetables for a salad. The ground beef Michael had left out was sitting on the counter. 

“Michael outside?” he asked already knowing the answer.

“Yes, he’s cleaning the grill off,” Mary looked over and seemed to pick up on Sam’s intention immediately.

“I’m going to take the burgers out and give him a hand,” Sam said grabbing the tray. 

“Sam --.”

“Yeah?”

Mary chewed on her lip, “nothing…just…nothing.”

Her lips curled together in a concerned smile and she turned back to mechanically chopping a cucumber.

Sam walked out the back and onto the deck carrying the tray of beef out to where Michael was cleaning the grill. He set the tray out on the picnic table and stepped over to where Michael was standing. 

“Need any help?” Sam asked standing at Michael’s shoulder.

He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Michael jumped slightly.

“Oh, uh,” he looked from Sam to the grill, “no I’ve got this.”

Sam nodded, and then went to stand at the picnic table where he had left the tray. He scooped up a handful of ground beef and started patting out the generic shape of a burger.

“Michael, can I ask you something,” Sam said casually as he regarded the disc of meat in his hand.

“Um, sure Sam.”

“What is it that you don’t like about me?”

Sam didn’t look up but he could tell Michael had turned around. “What makes you think there’s something I don’t like about you Sam?”

Sam shrugged, “well it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with your homophobic tendencies or the fact that you discriminate against me because I’m gay.”

And damn, did saying that out loud feel like he landed the first solid punch in this fight.

“I’m sorr – homophobic?” Michael sputtered, turning around and wielding the grill cleaning implement like a defensive weapon. “I’m not homophobic Sam. My son is --.”

“Probably what you consider to be the greatest embarrassment of your life if I’m not mistaken.”

Michael’s jaw clenched and his nostrils were flaring when Sam spared a glance up at him. Sam didn’t let that get to him just yet, he took a deep breath and thought back to how it felt having Dean safe and protected in his arms. 

“Now you listen here Sam --.” 

And right there. That _tone_ was so reminiscent of all of the times John had started in on lecturing Sam about his life that Sam couldn’t reign his anger in anymore.

Sam slammed the contents of his hand back onto the tray with a sharp smack and swung his fist Michael’s direction. “No, you listen.” Sam’s voice was deep and stern and he refused to back down from what he had to say.

“I understand that you think you’re doing what is best for Dean. But you need to grow up and get over the fact that your son is gay. His life choices are none of your goddamn business so long as he wakes up every day happy and content with the life that he’s made for himself. You might not like it, you might not understand it, but you’re fucking stupid if you think that you can change it.”

Michael looked about ready to respond to what Sam was saying, and so Sam took step forward and reminded the older man just how many extra inches he had on him. 

“I’m not finished yet.”

Sam took in a breath.

“Your son has been hurt. He’s become a victim by someone who saw him as less than human because of who he chooses to love. He was _raped_.” Sam spat the word out and watched Michael recoil from it.

You weren’t supposed to use that word. You were supposed to say attack, or accident, because it didn’t hurt as much to hear those words. But Sam wanted it to hurt, wanted Michael to actually feel what he was saying.

“You might not have been the one to do it to him, but you’re damn well not making it easy on him. So your son likes boys. So what? What’s the difference between me and some slutty girl? Huh? Is some girl going to love Dean more than me? Because I love Dean. I love him, and I’ve hardly known him for a month.”

“I care about your son, and he cares about me. And you’d think that would be enough for you. But no.” Sam snorted. “You’re too stuck on the fact that I’m a guy to stop and think about the fact that someone loves your son as much as you’re pretending to.”

That got through to Michael.

“I love my son.”

“Do you?” Sam asked, his voice rising in pitch. “Do you really? That’s funny, because I thought that fathers who actually loved their sons did whatever was possible to make them feel safe and to make them get better when they need it.”

“I’m am doing everything to help Dean!” Michael shouted.

“The hell you’re not!” came Sam’s furious reply, “do you know what I found when I went up to Dean’s room this morning? He was caught in a fucking flashback when I saw him. He was terrified of me because he was trapped in a nightmare and he thought that I was the guy who raped him. I had to hold him and talk to him for a fucking _hour_ before he finally calmed down and fell asleep.”

Sam could see that some of the fight had left Michael’s eyes and now came the final bomb that Sam had in his arsenal.

“Michael,” and Sam softened his voice for this last blow – he wanted to make a point, after all, not traumatize the man, “did you know he wet the bed last night? That whatever nightmare he was in was so real and terrifying to him that – that…” and damnit Sam had started to cry. 

He had meant to hold himself together for this talk but sometimes when Sam got frustrated enough he would cry. 

Sam rubbed at his cheeks and sniffed a few times before continuing, “I will not. Put Dean. Through that again.” 

His words were final in their tone as he spoke through hot tears.

“I don’t care what kind of prejudice it is that you have against me, Dean will never know a night like that one. Ever again.”

Sam stood his ground, staring at Michael’s hunched shoulders as tears rolled down his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away; he wanted Michael to see the emotions Sam felt in this.

He was staring into the older man’s eyes long enough to see when Michael’s resolve had broken. 

“Okay. Alright.”

And the matter was over.

Michael turned back around to clean the grill.

Sam went back to patting out burgers.

And Mary, who had been listening through the thin kitchen window, wiped a final tear away from her eye before walking to the living room to curl Dean to her side while he watched TV.

That night they all sat around the dinner table and watched as Sam managed to coax Dean into eating an entire burger on his own – minus the bun.

Shortly after that came the part of the night that would soon become ritual. Sam carrying Dean up the stairs to his bedroom.

Dean had been unaware of the explosive conversation that took place between Sam and his dad, and so he was expecting Sam to be leaving him soon after.

Sam laid him out on the bed and lay on his side so that he could stroke his hand down Dean’s cheek a few times. Lying patient kisses just under his eyes, over his forehead, his temples, down the bridge of his nose, at the corners of his mouth, and finally on his lips.

He kissed him gently. 

He kissed him like he was something precious and breakable. Something to be cherished.

Which he was.

When Sam got up from the bed and started walking to the door Dean was preparing himself for another night alone, and so he was surprised when Sam closed it and saw a backpack hanging from the inside door handle that he hadn’t noticed earlier.

Sam picked it up and deposited it on the bed before riffling through it and pulled out some sleep pants and a tooth brush. 

He looked up and saw the surprise on Dean’s face.

“Told you I’d take care of it,” he said with a half-powered smile.

Dean’s lips curled up into a shy smile and he ducked his head.

Sam leaned over the bed and kissed him.

They brushed their teeth in the mirror and Sam hoisted Dean up onto the bathroom counter so he could unwrap Dean’s self-injured arm. 

The stitches were thick and black and stood out in gruesome contrast to Dean’s skin, but Sam didn’t react to them as he smoothed an antibiotic cream over it to keep the scar clean and prevent any infection.

Dean’s head had dropped slightly while Sam worked and when Sam had Dean’s arm wrapped up again he placed both of his palms over Dean’s cheeks and stroked at the soft skin under his eyes with his thumb.

Dean closed his eyes and reached up with his good hand to close around Sam’s wrist. 

“C’mon,” Sam spoke softly, “let’s go to bed.”

Sam stepped away from Dean and held out his hand, and Dean slipped off of the counter and placed his hand in Sam’s who led the way back to Dean’s bedroom.

When they were laid down on Dean’s bed under the covers Dean turned around in Sam’s arms and stared unblinking into Sam’s eyes.

_You’re going to stay?_

Sam smiled. “I promised you I would.”

Dean smiled and burrowed his head into the spot under Sam’s chin. 

That night marked the first of many.


	19. Foreplay

As the days progressed Sam and Dean had found themselves falling into a peaceful routine. Sam stayed over every single night and held Dean as he slept to keep him from falling back into his nightmares, and in the mornings the two boys would make their way down to the kitchen where Mary would make them breakfast.

More times than not Sam would have to pull out the big guns to get Dean to eat, giving him quick kisses on the cheek or whispering promises into Dean’s ear that would leave him blushing as he chewed on the corner of a piece of toast. 

Mary always smiled at these interactions. She loved watching Sam cajole Dean into eating “just one more bite” of his eggs or waffles. And whenever Dean would pout Sam would offer him a kiss as incentive and Dean would sure enough eat that one bite extra.

Michael always seemed to find an excuse to cut out from breakfast early, and before he had the chance to leave Sam would keep physical interactions between him and Dean to a minimum. While he despised the fact that Michael was less than thrilled with Dean’s relationship with Sam, he didn’t want to rub the fact in the man’s face, especially since he had agreed to let him stay in their house so often. 

After that Mary and Michael would go off to work. Sam had told her that he and Dean would handle the dishes and clean up the kitchen for her. Mary had tried waving Sam off the first morning.

“Oh Sam, you don’t worry about these, I’ve got them,” she had said.

But Sam had merely walked over, dimples in place, and removed the pan that she had cooked their eggs in from her hand. “Mrs. Campbell, you work all day and you’ve already made breakfast for me, the least I can do is help with dishes.”

Another attempt at removing Sam from dish duty went unheard.

And so Sam and Dean worked on dishes each morning when Dean’s parents left for work. Sam would wash since Dean’s cast and bandages couldn’t get wet, and Dean would dry and put the dishes back in their proper place.

It was a basic domestic chore that Sam loved doing because it was something that he did with Dean.

Sure. It was washing dishes and his hands got all dry from the soapy water, but on occasion Sam would go to pass something off to Dean, and just as Dean went to reach out for it Sam would pull it back.

This would go on for a short while until Sam held whatever it was out of Dean’s reach and he would present his cheek to Dean.

Dean would then roll his eyes and grant Sam a quick kiss before Sam would smile broadly and continue washing. 

Dean, as better as he was doing, still hadn’t talked much.

He was comfortable saying Sam’s name, calling out to him to get his attention or to make a point. But he still hadn’t tried any other words past the ones that he had already said. 

He also hadn’t tried talking in front of his parents. That fact didn’t seem to bother either of them though, and Sam had to give credit to both Mary and Michael who did a wonderful job including Dean in the conversation and asking the kinds of questions that Dean could answer.

Sam hadn’t told either of them that Dean had actually spoken a few times. Dean obviously hadn’t built up the confidence to talk to them yet, and Sam didn’t want to pressure Dean by making him feel obligated into speaking to either his mom or dad.

During the day Sam would work on homework while allowing Dean to watch TV or look at his car magazines.

On occasion Dean would snuggle up against Sam’s side and they would read whatever Sam was looking at together. And since Sam was actually given an adequate amount of time to work on homework he indulged Dean in reading a few poems aloud. Dean would even work up the confidence to tug at Sam’s shirt and point out a particular poem that he wanted Sam to read and Sam would smile, pull Dean in for a kiss and read it out loud for him.

That always made Dean so happy.

Sam had classes three days a week. He missed his Monday class because he was taking care of Dean, but on Wednesday he had to leave for a few hours to go to his English class.

Before leaving they had made out on the couch. Sam holding Dean solidly and steady in his lap. He kept his hands above Dean’s clothes, as the one time he had gotten a little handsy since Dean’s nightmare – by running his hands up the skin on Dean’s back while kissing one night – he had got so worked up that Sam had to consult Mary on Dean’s breathing exercises to get him to calm down again.

It seemed like all of the work that Sam had put into Dean becoming comfortable with the idea of being touched like that, especially skin on skin, had gone away with Dean’s nightmare. It wasn’t something that made Sam happy; knowing that what had happened to Dean was still hurting him. But he was content with moving things at whatever pace made Dean feel comfortable.

Hell, truth be told if all Sam were allowed to do to Dean for the next fifty years was to hold him in bed, then he’d be a happy man.

Dean was still okay with kissing though. Which is why Sam worked to shower him with quick, chaste kisses throughout the day; pecking him on the temple, on his forehead, swooping down and blowing wet raspberries into Dean’s cheeks which never failed to make him laugh and squirm. Kissing his hand at night when he changed the bandages on his arm, or leaning over and planting one on the tip of his nose as he stared at the TV, or looked at his magazine, or when he was reading a book next to Sam.

Any kind of lip on skin contact is what Sam used as his main weapon of therapy.

Dean always loved it.

And on occasion, like right before they went to sleep at night, Sam would kiss him like he meant it. Licking into his mouth, curling his lips over Dean’s. Sucking on his plump bottom lip like he intended to break the skin. 

These were the kind of kisses that Dean wanted, but was always too shy to ask for. These were the ones that made Dean feel desired. Whereas the little ones made him feel loved. 

But Sam had left on Wednesday. And Dean had indicated to Sam that he was planning on watching TV while he was away.

It was only about two and a half hours that Sam was gone.

About half-way into Sam’s class time the phone rang.

Dean didn’t answer it. There was no way he would have been able to communicate with whoever it was calling anyways. But he got up and made his way over to the answering machine all the same.

He got out a piece of paper, ready to take down a message if need be, when Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey Dean,” Sam’s voice came through and Dean had immediately blushed and smiled, “I knew you weren’t going to answer, but I wanted to talk to you anyways. I’ve got another forty-five minutes to go and then I’m coming home as fast as I can so I can see you.” There was a pause as he sighed, “I miss you.”

Dean dropped the pencil he was holding and picked up the phone. “Sam.”

Dean could practically hear Sam smiling on the other end of the phone. “Love you too.”

At night Sam tried pulling his weight by at least having the salad ready for dinner each night. He and Dean had more fun than necessary preparing a simple salad. But Sam had a hard time fighting off the temptation of throwing the discs of cut up cucumbers like they were frizbees into the large salad bowl that Dean was holding. And Dean had an equal amount of fun darting around trying to catch them all if the ridiculous faces he made while doing so were any indication.

When Michael and Mary were home is when Sam tried his hardest to behave himself. He still would peck Dean with random kisses, but kept them to his cheek or temple, and their frequency died down a little bit. He was doing his best to acknowledge that Michael had made some compromises with how things were going to go on, and so Sam was compromising on just how much physical interaction went on between him and Dean whenever in Michael’s presence. Sam didn’t cut out the small touches entirely though, he intended on being around for a long time, if Dean would have him, and the kisses and other physical contact was just something that Michael would have to get used to. 

It was a little harder to get Dean to eat all of his dinner, especially since he couldn’t use the incentive of his touch. But all he usually had to do was whisper a reminder of Sam’s secret surprise to Dean whenever his appetite started waning and then Dean would perk right back up again.

After dinner Sam would usually head back over to his house for a while. He would switch out his books, grab some clothes and talk to his aunt and uncle for a few hours. He knew Dean didn’t like it when he was gone, but Sam had to admit that it did some good for Dean to be around his parents for a while. Sam loved how much Dean leaned on him throughout the day, looking to him for comfort and support. But he also knew – even though it was hard – that Dean had to get used to trusting other people as well. Especially his own parents.

He would shower at home, change into his pajamas and grab clothes for the next day before sitting down and watching TV with Bobby, talking to Ellen about classes and his homework or about what he and Dean did that day.

It was nice having his own support system back home, knowing that whenever he was with Dean he had to be on top of his game.

His aunt would give him a big hug good night and Bobby would clap him on his shoulder as he walked by his uncle’s recliner, both with a “tell Dean goodnight for me,” before he walked out the door.

Dean always looked so happy to have Sam back at that point, because it was then that Dean would be faced with the task of going up to his room.

He still freaked out when he got to the stairs, never able to make it up more than a few steps before his breathing got out of hand and he would physically shut down. But Sam never pushed him; he simply lifted Dean up and wrapped his legs around his waist before carrying him the rest of the way.

He didn’t mind.

Loved it actually.

Not the Dean being scared part, hell no; he hated the fact that this was something that was likely to plague Dean for months to come. No, what he loved was the fact that Dean trusted him enough to turn to him for comfort. 

It always put a smile on his face to hear the sigh of relief that came with Dean’s arms and legs around him and Dean’s face pressed into his neck, especially knowing that he was the one who made Dean feel that way. 

And they would go to sleep together, comfortable in each other’s warmth and presence. Sam would nuzzle the back of Dean’s head, breathing in his warm sugary scent that smelled like home. And Dean would hold tightly onto Sam’s arms around his chest, finally able to fall asleep with a smile on his face.

*****

It was Friday.

Today Sam had class and Dean wasn’t looking forward to the seemingly endless period of time that Sam would be away. 

At the moment Sam was in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch. He had stopped trying to get Dean to eat the second meal of the day because Dean had been making it through breakfast and dinner just fine. Sam was likely to start making him eat three times a day soon though. Dean just smiled and shook his head. Sam was too good to him.

Dean was leafing through a book Sam had left on the coffee table in the living room. He was scanning through some of the poems he had read while Sam was working on his homework. Though Dean’s fascination with poetry had simply started out as him wanting Sam’s voice to help soothe him when he was upset, the more poetry he read – especially when he read a poem a few times through – the more he started enjoying it just on his own. 

It was weird. Dean had never been accused of being a book worm before, let alone a connoisseur of poetry, but thanks to Sam his outlook on the written word had changed. At first some of the poems Sam read for homework seemed kind of challenging, but the more he read the words and listened to Sam’s explanations of them the more he understood the message in the short lines. 

He had always kind of felt like he was too stupid to be a literary buff. Never able to read and speak in ways that made him sound smart. But the longer he learned things through Sam the more confident he felt in his own intelligence. 

The more he felt capable of, well, anything.

Sam came back into the room drinking a glass of water and Dean held out the opened book to Sam.

_Can you read this out loud?_

Sam smiled and put the glass on the coffee table, “sure,” he said taking the book from Dean, “which one?”

Dean made room for Sam on the couch as he sat down and then poked a finger at the poem in question.

Sam looked at it a moment, recognizing the fact that it wasn’t one he had read with Dean no doubt, and then pulled Dean closer as he read the short poem out loud.

“They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,  
Love and Desire and hate:  
I think they have no portion in us after   
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:  
Out of a misty dream  
Our path emerges for a while, then closes  
Within a dream.”

Sam looked at the page a moment longer before closing the book and dropping it onto the floor. He then wrapped both of his arms around Dean and pulled him farther onto his chest to snuggle.

“You found that poem on your own.”

Dean smiled. _Yeah._

“Why do you like it?” Sam asked genuinely interested as he settled them more comfortably onto the cushions.

Dean shrugged and pursed his lips.

_Dunno, just do._

“Well what does it make you think?” Sam prodded.

Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes as he thought. He pulled away a bit and grabbed Sam’s hand, placing it tenderly over the gauze covering the scar on his forearm, and he shook his head. He moved Sam’s hand over his cast, and shook his head again. Then, he placed Sam’s hand over Dean’s heart, and – sadly this time – shook his head a third time, before leaning in quickly and kissing Sam on his lips.

_It tells me that my injuries won’t last forever, which is good. But that what we have won’t always be here either, so I need to enjoy it while I can._

This time it took a while for Dean’s actions to kick into understanding for Sam. But Dean was able to see the shift in his eyes as soon as he understood the basics of what Dean was trying to say.

 

Sam eventually smiled as he leaned down to kiss Dean. “God I love how fucking smart you are,” he said against Dean’s lips.

Dean felt his blush creep over his face as Sam pulled out from under him and got off of the couch. 

No one had ever called him smart before.

Sam slipped on his shoes and started bunching his hair into his trademark ponytail. He would be leaving for class in just a few minutes and Dean was going to spend the time picking through the textbooks Sam was leaving behind to find more poems for Sam to read out loud.

Dean watched, as he sat comfortably on the couch, as Sam’s fingers carded through his soft hair. He loved running his good hand through it each chance he got, but Sam seemed to love having his hair tied up, and so Dean wasn’t able to give into that desire very often.

Hair pinned in place Sam stooped to retrieve his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He turned back around with a confused look on his face while staring at Dean who was getting up from the couch and coming over to Sam to receive his good-bye kiss.

Sam’s eyebrows pulled together as he looked at Dean expectantly, and Dean’s steps faltered.

“Well?” Sam asked like Dean was doing something wrong.

Dean’s face scrunched up.

_What?_

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Dean turned his head slightly.

_What are you talking about?_

Sam released a heavy put upon sigh, “how am I supposed to give you your surprise for eating that quesadilla the other day if you’re not dressed to go outside?”

Dean’s head jerked back slightly as he stared at Sam, but his heart rate picked up with his excitement over the possibility of what Sam’s words were implying.

“Well hurry up! Go get dressed!”

Sam smiled as he watched Dean scurry up the stairs.

Dean was so excited by what Sam was saying that he didn’t even notice the fact that he was walking up the stairs and bursting into his room without Sam’s help, well, without Sam’s physical help anyway.

He practically jumped into a pair of dirty jeans that were lying on the floor and pulled a t-shirt over his head before thundering down the stairs and back to Sam who was grinning even bigger, eyes locked on Dean’s chest.

Dean looked down, noticing that he had put on Sam’s shirt that he had worn the previous day. He looked back up and locked eyes with Sam. 

_Not changing._

Sam chuckled. “Didn’t say you had to.”

Then Sam placed his hand at the small of Dean’s back and led him outside. Sam had parked his car at the curb by the Campbell’s driveway after his class on Wednesday, as if parking his car the extra 20 yards away in his own driveway was too far away from where Dean was impatiently waiting for Sam on the couch. 

Sam, like a proper gentleman, held out Dean’s door for him, and closed it after Dean folded himself into the passenger’s seat; he then popped the trunk to deposit his backpack and climbed in the driver’s seat to pull away. 

They were about five minutes out when Dean reached out and took Sam’s hand. He hadn’t left the house since being at Sam’s the day he came home from the hospital, and while he was a little nervous at the idea of being outside he could stomach the idea so long as he was with Sam.

“Scared?” Sam asked knowingly.

Dean squeezed his fingers around Sam’s.

“Don’t be, I’m not leaving you.”

The silence spoke for Dean.

_What about your class?_

“I already talked to my professor, told her I was bringing my boyfriend in today and that you wouldn’t do anything to disrupt the class.”

Dean blushed at Sam’s words. That was the first time Sam had called him _that_ before.

“Sam,” Dean spoke softly while pulling Sam’s hand into his lap to be held in both of Dean’s.

Dean didn’t look over at Sam as he stared intently at Sam’s one hand in both of his; running his fingers over the back of Sam’s hand.

Sam interpreted the words perfectly.

_Am I really your boyfriend?_

Sam’s hand held tightly onto Dean’s and brought it to his mouth so he could kiss the back of Dean’s hand before returning it to Dean’s lap.

“Of course you are. Or, at least you are to me. Is that okay with you?” Sam’s eyes peeled from the road to look over at Dean. 

Dean felt Sam’s eyes on his face and he couldn’t hide his blushing cheeks and the grin that threatened to split his lips open.

_That’s more than okay with me._

Sam sighed and the two boys relaxed in their seats. Both glowing with the understanding of what their exact relationship was.

*****

The classes that Sam was taking were at the local community college. It was a campus that wasn’t very far from the town Dean had previously lived in, but was quite a distance further than where he lived now, so Dean had a decent amount of time to just sit in the car, idly stroking Sam’s hand as they listened to the radio – it was on a classic rock station, and Dean hadn’t seen Sam change it when they got in the car which meant that Sam was listening to it before, _without_ Dean – and smiling like a girl with her first serious crush every time Sam would bring Dean’s hand up to brush across his lips.

Dean was excited when they finally pulled into the parking lot at the college. There were large buildings scattered around green rolling hills, and a small creek broke up the campus, making small bridges a necessity when going from one side to the other. Once out of the car Sam grabbed his backpack from the trunk and grabbing Dean’s good hand, leading him to where his class was. 

For being mid-August there was still quite a bit of students roaming the campus, but Dean had to keep reminding himself that college classes still went on during the summer months. He had felt sort of self-conscious when they were crossing one of the small bridges and were passed by a group of students. 

Dean’s hand went to instinctively pull away from Sam’s, but Sam just tightened his grip and walked closer to Dean. 

The group passed by calling out ‘hello’s’ and nodding their heads as they walked and Dean felt immediate relief to know that he and Sam weren’t about to be ostracized for very obviously being males who were holding hands. 

Eventually Sam walked Dean into a building with fake rocks protruding from the concrete walls of the building and they walked into a lobby with far too much wood and that commercial, over-walked on bluish carpet that schools always seemed to have. 

The building smelled and looked well used, but kept up; just a little outdated is all. Dean liked the feel of it, as if he could feel the energy from generations of students walking through the halls on their way to or from classes just like the one he was about to sit in on. 

They walked up a set of stairs and went down a hallways lined with doors on either side that led to classrooms and Sam brought Dean into one where the light was off and the door was closed.

“Got here a bit early,” Sam said as he opened the door and flicked the lights on.

The room had approximately twenty desks in it, all lined up in perfect rows. It had a chalkboard at the front of the room and a large outdated overhead projector perched on a table at the front. The smell that greeted Dean was what he assumed years upon years of new and old textbooks being opened and closed smelled like, and strangely enough it was just as comforting to him as the smell of gasoline or engine oil.

“Figured you’d want to get here before everyone else,” Sam continued on, seemingly oblivious to Dean’s scrutiny of the space.

Dean turned around and smiled.

“Where do you want to sit?”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and moved him to the back row, where he wouldn’t be seen as much, and Sam pushed two of the desks together so that they could sit side by side.

Dean immediately took up the corner seat so that he was between the wall and Sam, and Sam dropped his backpack into the chair before riffling through it and pulling out a few of his books. Dean knew which ones were needed for his class period today, but he also spied Sam pulling out the book Dean had been looking at earlier.

This one he placed on the desk in front of Dean along with a stack of post-it notes.

Dean looked from them to Sam.

_How did you know I wanted to pick some out?_

Sam chuckled, “because I know you.”

Dean smiled and pulled the book closer to him so that he could start flipping through the pages. Sam reached into his backpack and retrieved his laptop so that he could start working on a paper he had started the night before.

After a few minutes another student entered the room, an girl in her early twenties if Dean had to guess.

She smiled politely as she sat down in the first row and put her own supplies on the desk before turning around to discuss the assigned reading with Sam.

Sam chatted freely with her about the poems that they were to be discussing in class that day, Dean had read all of them and had a few things that he wanted to say about them, but was kept from responding because he couldn’t exactly figure out a way to communicate his more complex thoughts with Sam. 

A few other people had walked into the room by now and they were all joining in on the conversation. 

The students kept moving their eyes to Dean’s face, with such a small class it was easy to pick out the fact that he wasn’t a student, nor was he old enough to be in college. They would catch his eyes on occasion and smiling at him as if encouraging him to talk, or simply being polite – Dean wasn’t sure which – and eventually he felt eyes landing on his arms. With one bandaged up and one wrapped in a cast it was kind of hard to not notice them – especially with Dean wearing short sleeves.

Just as he started reconsidering Sam’s idea to bring Dean with Sam sat forward in his seat and started stripping off the jacket he was wearing while talking to the group. Once off Sam stood up behind Dean and held the jacket out to help Dean put his arms through them.

“Cold baby?” Sam said softly as one of the other students started talking.

They both knew that Dean wasn’t, but Sam was merely speaking out loud to throw off the eavesdropping students from thinking that Dean was uncomfortable.

Dean smiled and nodded, shoving his arms into the sleeves and pulling the jacket around him. He swam in the garment meant for Sam, but he also felt ridiculously comfortable. Both the shirt and jacket felt and smelled like Sam, and when Sam sat back down and placed his hand calmly over Dean’s thigh all of the apprehension that Dean felt simply melted away.

Hell, someone could ask him a direct question at this point and his heart rate wouldn’t accelerate a single beat. 

A few minutes more and a middle aged curly haired woman walked into the room. She smiled brightly as she dropped a hefty bag onto the table with the projector and started pulling out books and a manila folder with papers that she glanced at quickly before stepping in front of the table and pulling herself up to sit next to the projector before addressing the class.

Dean listened patiently to the discussion going on around him. He could feel his face pull into a blank open expression as he took in what other people were saying, but whenever Sam was the one to speak Dean simply beamed with pride.

Apparently there was a test the following Monday that they were reviewing for, as much of the discussion centered around the poems that Dean had read, and he was actually able to follow along with the discussion.

It wasn’t until they got to one of the Emily Dickinson poems that Dean hadn’t actually read that he had a hard time following. He didn’t feel like looking the poem up in Sam’s books so he grabbed Sam’s laptop and pulled up a search engine to find it. 

He typed in the title of the poem that they had been throwing around:

“Because I Could Not Stop for Death”

and then read the first version of the poem that popped up.

Sam had been too engrossed in the discussion to notice what Dean was doing and didn’t catch onto what Dean was reading until Dean was on his second go around.

Sam reached out to take the laptop from him, no doubt worried about Dean’s reaction to what the poem was saying but Dean’s just tugged the laptop back and pulled up a word document.

 _Why didn’t you show me this one before?_ He typed out.

“I didn’t know how you would take it,” Sam whispered.

_Well it’s beautiful._

Sam smiled and pulled Dean closer to kiss his temple.

_This asshole has everything about the poem wrong._

Sam read what Dean typed and his eyebrows pulled together. 

Dean caught his eyes and jerked his head toward the front of the class where a student was arguing that his interpretation of the poem was that Death was an evil character forcing a narrator into their grave.

_That’s completely wrong._

Sam smiled. “It’s called an interpretation. He has his own opinion, you have yours.”

_Well his is wrong._

Sam couldn’t stop the snort that escaped as he tried to hold in his laugh.

“Sam?” 

Dean and Sam’s eyes popped up to the front of the room where the professor and the rest of the students were looking at them.

“Sorry,” Sam composed himself quickly, “Dean was just telling me his ideas of the poem.”

“Oh,” the professor looked surprised by intensely interested in what Dean had to ‘say’ about the poem. “And what do you think of the poem Dean?”

Dean felt the eyes shift to him and his earlier assumption wasn’t so true, because he could feel his heart start pounding, Sam reached around him and pulled him closer to comfort him.

“Actually, Dean isn --,” Sam had started to say until Dean started furiously typing away at Sam’s laptop.

_I completely disagree with what was being said about the meaning of the poem. There’s no way that the narrator thinks that Death is intimidating or that they’re being forced into anything. Look at the way that the narrator speaks of Death and acts in his presence. First of all, they’re in their pajamas – if I’m not mistaken – and I personally only wear my pajamas in front of people that I’m close to. Like my parents or my friends, or Sam here. The narrator is comfortable with Death. And even when they’re in the carriage together the narrator is calm enough to look fondly upon the sights that they pass. If they were scared they wouldn’t be reminiscing about life. I don’t think that the meaning of this poem is that we’re supposed to be fearful of Death, but that we should look to him as we would an old friend. One that we don’t see very often but who obviously has an important role in our lives. It’s bringing up the intimate relationship that we all share with Death. It might not be one that we’re aware of during most of our life, but it’s there and it’s something that we need to get comfortable with because Death in inevitable and something that happens to everyone._

Sam was reading the words out as quickly as Dean was typing them and when Dean finished the two of them lifted their heads to evaluate the reactions from the rest of the class and the professor.

“Wow,” was all she had to come back with after a moment. “You have a wonderful grasp of this poem, Dean.” She said with a bright and meaningful smile just for him before addressing the rest of the class. “I expect wonderful answers on your test, especially if someone who isn’t even a part of the class can give me a proper interpretation of one of the poems we’ve been studying.”

Dean was smiling for himself now. 

Sam pulled Dean closer and pressed his lips to Dean’s ear, “so fucking smart,” he whispered once again.

*****

At the end of the class Dean and Sam were walking once again hand in hand toward Sam’s car. Dean got into the passenger seat as Sam put his backpack in the trunk before getting in the driver’s seat.

Once his door was closed Dean was pulling Sam to him and crushing their lips together before Sam could properly situation himself in his seat.

He was overwhelmed by Dean’s lips and arms which were demanding Sam’s touch and entrance to his mouth. 

Sam chuckled as best as he could with Dean sucking the air out of him and gave in easily to Dean’s desires. Dean pulled away slightly and mouthed the words ‘thank you’ against Sam’s lips until he caught onto what Dean was saying.

Sam pressed a wet kiss to Dean’s lips before pulling back.

“For what?”

Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes and cocked his head. 

_My surprise._

Sam scoffed and sat up higher, forcing Dean to return himself to his seat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” and the grin that took over Sam’s mouth was terrifying and arousing all at one for what it promised, “that _so_ was not your surprise. That? That was foreplay.”

Sam started the car quickly and began driving away from the parking lot. If going to his class hadn’t been what Dean got for eating all of his food without complaint then what exactly was Sam planning?

As if knowing that he had caused Dean’s mind to roll into action Sam reached over and grabbed Dean’s good hand. Dean held Sam’s hand right back as he shuffled through ideas on what it could possibly be.


	20. Dean's Surprise

Dean hadn’t been driven around the area that he had moved to so Sam couldn’t help driving Dean through down town, it wasn’t exactly where he needed to go, but he figured he could take them through the scenic route to get there. 

When they stopped so that they could get some ice cream he was honestly surprised that Dean hadn’t ‘said’ anything about getting to his surprise.

They were sitting at a picnic table a few steps away from the oldest ice cream and candy store in town and Sam was holding out a double scoop waffle cone of chocolate fudge ice cream. Dean had predictably turned down his own cone, but that didn’t keep Sam from pressing the chocolately orbs against Dean’s lips until he started lapping at the treat too.

He was watching patiently as Dean licked around his lips, removing all traces of the chocolate substance when Sam realized why Dean was so content with what they were doing. Dean thought that his surprise was simply to hang out with Sam. And not just to hang out with him, but to do so in public.

He remembered a while ago – God it felt like years – Dean saying that he had never had a boyfriend before. No doubt to someone like Dean the idea of being seen out in public with his openly declared boyfriend is like the greatest treasure someone could give him.

Sam hadn’t realized he was staring until Dean caught his eyes and the younger teen looked away with a little color staining his cheeks. 

God it almost hurt how much Sam cared about Dean. The idea that merely being with him – openly – in public was reward enough for Dean both made him feel elated and utterly depressed. Dean deserved so much better than what he had received out of life so far. 

Sam tipped the ice cream his direction and lapped a good chunk into his mouth before reaching behind Dean’s head with his free hand and pulling him into a kiss. They let the ice cream melt between their warm mouths and hot tongues and when Sam pulled away Dean’s tongue swiped across Sam’s bottom lip to lap up the left over chocolate. 

Sam swiped his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip a few times, smiling at the content and loving look on Dean’s face, before popping his thumb into his mouth to clean it off. 

He threw his arm over Dean’s shoulder and pulled him closer on the bench and Dean dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder as they finished off their ice cream together.

They were both about to get into Sam’s car when he pulled Dean to a stop, “before you attack me in the car again,” and Sam just _loved_ how Dean’s cheeks got all rosy at his words, “this wasn’t your surprise.”

Dean shot Sam a questioning look as Sam got into the driver’s seat. 

Once Dean was in Sam started the car up again and he figured he had built up the anticipation enough, time to bring Dean to what he was deciding to give him.

“Dean,” Sam said now that they were only a block or so away, “I know you thought hanging out with me today was what you were getting, and while I firmly believe that my ego is big enough for me to believe that I am God’s gift to men – and women – everywhere, that’s not what I planned on giving you.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled as he looked over at Sam, and then quickly out the windshield as Sam pulled into the parking lot of an old concrete and brick building. Sam pulled into a free space where the sign attached to the building’s side was visible to them and put the car in park and turned it off before turning to look at Dean’s face.

He looked confused, like he didn’t know what they hell they were possibly doing there.

“We’re here,” Sam said quietly with false cheer in his voice. Dean’s apprehensive reaction wasn’t what he was expecting. 

He could see Dean’s eyes as they scanned the sign and read it again and again, probably trying to come up with an explanation as to why they were there.

“The DMV?” Dean finally said turning to look at Sam.

He had to hide his immediate reaction of joy at Dean having said something, “uhm – ye-yeah. I – I just thought that, well, maybe we could uh, get – get your license.”

Dean’s head turned to look at the sign on the building again and Sam was having a difficult time interpreting the look on Dean’s face.

“I mean, I know you have to have some forms of ID and stuff and proof of where you live, so I got everything from your house. I – I kinda snagged a cable bill from your kitchen counter after I saw that your mom had paid it, and – and I found the proof of your driving hours on your desk in your room. Here.”

Sam reached forward suddenly and pulled the documents out of the glove box where he had stashed them and set them on Dean’s lap. 

“You said your Dad didn’t want you driving, but technically all you need is a car and this stuff and – and,” Sam bit his bottom lip to keep him from rambling and stared at the subdued way that Dean picked the papers up off of his lap to look at them.

He hated it. 

God, Sam shouldn’t have been so stupid to assume that Dean was okay with the idea. Now he felt like a jackass.

“Got this was such a stupid idea, how about we just go back home and watch some TV,” Sam said reaching forward to grab the papers out of Dean’s lap. But he was stopped when Dean laid a hand across his arm.

“Dean?”

He could see that the younger teen was struggling with something, and from the way that Dean’s jaw muscles clenched and how he kept licking at his bottom lip he was assuming that Dean was attempting to say something.

“Sam I --,” and Dean paused, brushing at his eyes with the back of his good hand, “thank you.”

And Dean turned, showing Sam his wide happy, tear filled eyes. 

“Thank you,” Dean said again throwing his arms around Sam and clutching the papers in his hand like they were fistfuls of gold. 

Sam held onto Dean even tighter and buried his face in the hair on his head. 

*****

After making out in the car for a few minutes Sam had pulled a suddenly ecstatic Dean into line behind a dozen other people and it was hard for him not to smile at the excitement on Dean’s face. The last time he had seen him with that big of a smile on his face and that much brilliance in his eyes was when he had taken Dean out to see Bobby’s shop. He made a mental note to take Dean out there again sometime soon.

Dean’s frame was bouncing and rocking in anticipation of getting his license and Sam held onto his good hand to make sure that he didn’t bounce his way to the front of the line. 

“Calm down there Dean, you keep shaking like that and they’re going to think you’re physically unable to drive,” Sam chuckled as Dean rolled his eyes and continued to rock back and forth on his heels.

A few minutes later and Sam tugged on Dean’s hand to get his attention, “so why did your Dad not want you getting a license anyway?”

Dean frowned and shot Sam a look with his eyes that said _you really want to talk about that now?_

Sam shook his head; it seemed that Dean had reached his quota for talking that day.

They were up next. 

Sam laid out all of the paperwork for Dean and started talking to the plump woman behind the counter for Dean.

“Hello boys,” she greeted them.

“Hi,” Sam spoke up, “we’re here to get his driver’s license today.” 

“Oh?” the woman responded grabbing the necessary paperwork to begin filling it out. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“It’s Dean Campbell,” Sam said.

The woman eyed him, pen poised over the paper, questioning why he was the one talking.

“Oh, um,” Sam leaned a little further over the counter so that only the three of them could hear what he was saying, “Dean doesn’t talk I’m here to do that for him.”

She nodded her head and started writing out Dean’s name.

Sam had to give the woman credit, every time she had a question for Dean she would look _at Dean_ not at Sam like he assumed most people would. 

A few forms and only a handful of minutes later and they were waiting on the person to come out to give Dean his driving test. 

This was the sticky part for Sam. He wanted to be in the car with Dean to keep him calm, but he wasn’t sure if that was allowed.

That problem was solved for him however, when the woman who had filled out the forms with them flagged down the driving instructor and whispered something in her ear while motioning to where Sam and Dean sat.

The woman nodded her head and then proceeded to continue walking to them.

“Alright, you boys ready?” she asked.

And Sam beamed.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded.

“Okay, then let’s go out to your car,” Dean turned to follow the woman out the front door but Sam had to turn quick and catch the attention of the other lady who had helped them, shooting her a smile and a thankful wave before following after them.

They went out to Sam’s car and Sam handed over the keys with a quick hug and a whispered, “you’re gonna do great,” before Dean hopped into the driver’s seat so the instructor could inspect the lights.

Light check done the woman got in the passenger seat and Sam hopped in the back so that Dean’s test could begin.

Sam could tell that Dean was nervous at first, and he was damn glad he had decided to sit behind him so that he could snake his arm between Dean’s seat and the door to hold onto Dean’s hip and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance whenever he felt Dean losing his cool.

Dean’s nerves were the only unsteady thing about his driving though. The rest of what he did happened with textbook precision and confidence that made it seem like Dean had been driving since before he was out of diapers. 

Sooner than Sam would have thought they were back in the DMV parking lot and Dean was turning off the engine.

“That was some fantastic driving!” the lady said as they all got out of the car, and Dean’s cheeks pinked up real cute at that.

Sam stepped in alongside Dean and pulled him into another hug, “told you you’d do great.”

“Are you brothers?” the woman asked out of curiosity as they walked into the lobby again.

“No,” Sam said and smiled as he looked down into Dean’s eyes. “He’s my boyfriend.”


	21. Baby

Dean ran his thumb over his picture on his driver’s license for the fourth or fifth time since they had got back to Sam’s car. He could feel Sam looking at him from his seat but he was just in too much awe at what had just come into his possession for him to look over at Sam at the moment. And when Sam cupped the back of his head to place a kiss at his temple he knew that Sam understood how he was feeling.

Sam started the car and started pulling out of the lot and Dean was still running his fingers over the glossy surface of his driver’s license. It was so small, just a piece of rectangular plastic, but God, did it mean so much more than that. 

He reached out and took Sam’s hand off of the wheel so that he could hold it in his, and though he couldn’t see it he could feel Sam’s dimpled smile looking over at him.

Dean felt so loved.

He was so captured with looking at his license that it took him a while to notice that Sam wasn’t bringing them home. He finally brought his head up long enough to look at where they were going, and he had a vague notion of where their destination was.

He looked over at Sam’s face and quirked an eyebrow.

_We going to Bobby’s garage?_

Sam smiled, “yeah, we’re going to Bobby’s, figured you had a good day so far, and I wanted to keep it going.” Sam tugged on Dean’s hand, “you got to see me in action, now I wanna see you.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile and look back out the windshield. He had run out of things to tinker with on the engine parts that he had in his garage at home, so it would be nice if Bobby had something he could get his hands – er, hand – on at his garage.

They pulled into _Singer’s Auto_ and Dean stepped out of the car and watched as Sam pulled his hair out of the pony it was in and ruffled it with his fingers before taming the mane with the rubberized band that Dean had declared war on. Sam’s hair was way too wonderful for it to be held back like that. 

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he followed Sam into the garage once again.

The smell hit Dean the way the scent of fresh baked cookies hits a person with an empty stomach. All of the remaining places inside of him that felt cold or empty – which thanks to Sam were very few – felt warm and filled all over.

He felt his lips pull up into a smile as he took a moment to breathe in the smell of gasoline, engine grease, rubber and oil while the sounds of an old radio on a classic rock station played somewhere deeper in the garage and the mixed sounds of metal on metal and jacks being lifted reached his ears. 

Sam grabbed his hand and he followed him further into the garage where they came across a man in his forties, engine grease smeared over his face and caked on his nails as he ate a sandwich and sipped on a coke while filling out part of an order sheet.

Dean was a little startled by the man’s presence – as he had suddenly appeared in view as they walked around a corner – but Sam didn’t seem nervous about the guy, so Dean trusted him.

“Hey Roger, my uncle Bobby around?” Sam asked pulling Dean up alongside him and not thinking twice about the fact that he was blatantly holding onto his hand.

“Nah, he ran out to get some lunch, should be back in a few though.” 

Roger dropped his sandwich as he scratched at the scruff on his face before turning and looking at the two teen boys next to him.

Dean had no doubt that the man could see that they were clearly holding hands, and his heart picked up a little and his fingers twitched while holding onto Sam’s.

Sam squeezed his hand a little to reassure him as Roger looked him over.

“You must be Dean,” he said before nodding once and draining the last of his coke.

“Bobby’s spoke about you quite a bit,” he was saying as he got up and tossed his can into the trash. “Said you liked cars.”

Dean shrugged even though Roger couldn’t see it.

“He does,” Sam answered for him.

“You ever replace the struts on a van before?” Roger asked walking over to where a mini-van was raised up and the hood was popped open.

Dean shook his head when Roger looked over at him.

“You wanna learn?”

Dean smiled and bobbed his head.

“Well alright then, go over there and grab my socket wrench and we’ll get started.”

*****

Sam watched for hours as Dean worked with Roger, and then with Bobby once he got back from lunch. 

Dean wasn’t saying anything to either man, but neither of them pressed him to speak. They simply asked him yes or no questions and put a tool in his good hand before pointing and explaining what they wanted Dean to do.

Sam had never seen Dean’s eyes so bright and attentive. Sure, when he was explaining poems to him he’d have this wide eyed look about him as if he were genuinely interested in what Sam was saying – which he was sure Dean was – but nothing compared to watching Dean soak up the atmosphere of being somewhere and doing something that he had a passion for. 

His Uncle’s garage wasn’t the place that he usually enjoyed spending his time, but with how much Dean loved it Sam could definitely get used to it.

For the most part he was just content to sit on a stool head in his hands and elbows on his knees as he watched Dean work. And man, was watching Dean bent over the engine of a car something to see. 

Dean’s jeans were a little baggy, he still had yet to gain any weight despite the fact that Sam was shoveling as much food into him as possible, but they were fitted enough so that when Dean had his ass in the air as he reached down into the engine block with Roger’s expert voice guiding him that Sam was able to get a nice view of Dean’s ass as the denim stretched over the perky globes that Sam had never really been able to admire before.

He was so captivated by the sight that was Dean’s ass that he hadn’t even realized that his Uncle was standing right next to him and had asked him a question. 

“Sam!” 

“What?” Sam shot up on the stool and almost knocked himself over with the force that he jolted upwards. “Jesus Bobby, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” Sam clutched at his chest as his heart pounded.

Bobby chuckled and went back to wiping the grease of his hands off on a shop towel.

“I asked you how Dean was doing?” Bobby nodded his head toward where Dean and Roger were bent over the engine of a car and didn’t bring up the fact that the younger boy’s rear end was practically staring his nephew in the face. “He seems pretty happy today.”

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled, “I kind of spoiled him today.”

“Do I wanna know?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “not like that.”

His eyes were caught on Dean’s back as he spoke, “took him to my class today. He’s been really enjoying me reading some of my poems out loud to him, y’know, just some of the ones that I read for class. I think it helps calm him down when he gets all worked up.” Sam shrugged, “but that wasn’t why I took him.”

“So why did you?”

Sam smiled and looked up at his Uncle, “took him to the DMV afterwards and got him his license.”

Bobby’s eyebrow lifted into his thinning hairline. “He didn’t have one?”

“No,” Sam shook his head and went back to looking at Dean, “Michael wouldn’t let him, don’t know why but.” Sam shrugged, “But he deserves it. He needs to know that he’s good enough to have something like that. Something that feels like freedom in your hands.”

Bobby nodded and clapped Sam on his shoulder. “You’re doin real good son.”

Sam smiled and Bobby looked over at Dean and Roger once last time before Bobby shook his head with a chuckle and walked away while Sam let his eyes travel back to Dean’s backside.

*****

Sam didn’t have too much longer to wait before Dean walked over to him trying to wipe the grease off of his good hand with his broken one. When Dean got close enough he took the shop towel from Dean and cleaned his hand off for him.

“You have fun?”

Dean nods.

“You all done here?” Sam asks gesturing towards Roger and Bobby who were working on two separate vehicles behind him.

Another nod.

“So, whaddya wanna do now?”

Dean curled his lips in thought and looked over to a small box of tools that were on the shelf that he had been getting the tools from when Roger and Bobby were telling him what to do. Sam followed his eyes and smiled when he saw Dean was staring at the old rusted metal box. He walked over and pulled it down from the shelf and carried it over to Dean.

“Where to?”

Dean smiled and grabbed Sam’s free hand, tugging him out to the back of the garage and out into the salvage lot. 

Sam knew exactly where Dean was heading, but loved the fact that Dean was the one leading him around for once, and so he allowed Dean to pull him around the lot as Dean searched around until they came up on the Impala.

Dean hadn’t been back to see it since that first time, but he stared with reverence and love in his eyes.

Sam was quickly becoming jealous of a car.

Dean dropped Sam’s hand in favor of running his hand over the hood before popping it open. Dean quietly rooted around in the engine while Sam looked on; he had no clue what Dean was looking at, or if he was trying to find something specific. He didn’t really care, they were doing something that Dean wanted to, and that in itself made Sam happy. 

After a short moment Dean turned around and pulled the toolbox from Sam’s hand and placed it softly on the ground – as if it were made out of glass and not metal – and plucked out an array of tools.

He then turned back around and assumed his ass-up position as he bent into the engine of the car.

Guess Sam was back to watching Dean’s ass then.

*****

Sam had fallen asleep.

He hadn’t meant to, but he could only stand so many hours of watching Dean work at something that he had no understanding of before his own boredom set in, and before Sam knew it he had fallen asleep lounged out across an old rubber tire. 

His back and legs were propped up by the tire itself while his but rested on the ground in the tire’s center and when he woke up the sun had started going down and Dean was reclined on the hood of the Impala, leaning back against the windshield and looking out at the colors in the sky.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight Dean created.

He pushed at the ground behind him to get himself out of the tire and then made his way over to the Impala to sit next to Dean.

Right as Sam heard the metal buttons on the back of his pants drag over the metal surface of the Impala’s hood Dean’s attention snapped toward him and a loud “Baby!” escaped his lips.

Sam chuckled and continued moving to throw an arm around Dean’s shoulders, “nah, I can’t be baby, that’s your name.”

Dean rolled his eyes and ignored Sam’s arm as he tugged Sam away from the spot he was sitting on and ran a worried hand over the metal Sam had drug his butt across. 

“Car Sam.”

Sam huffed, “Really? The _car_ is baby?”

Dean shot Sam a look that could easily be identified as a bitch face before Sam curled Dean around in his arms so they were reclined over the windshield, Dean’s head on Sam’s shoulder.

They were just lying quietly, Dean’s hand tangled up in Sam’s shirt as Sam held Dean in his arms, content to run his hand up and down the younger boy’s back and press the occasional kiss to the top of his head.

“Thanks Sam.”

The words were softly spoken, but they packed so much weight.

Sam kissed Dean’s forehead and murmured a quiet “you’re welcome baby boy,” into Dean’s soft skin.

Dean sat up a little in Sam’s arms and looked with wide loving eyes into Sam’s.

Sam held his breath at the look in Dean’s eye.

They moved their heads slowly together and pressed their lips together, eyes closing in tandem as they kissed.

Dean was the one to pop his lips open and start suckling at Sam’s lips, these tiny tingles of pressure that tickled slightly, and Sam opened his lips to capture Dean’s.

Dean moaned at the feeling of Sam’s tongue entering his mouth and reached for Sam’s head with both of his hands. His left hand reached behind Sam’s head and tugged off the offending rubber band that held his beautiful hair back, and when it was free he tangled his hand in fistfuls of it.

His broken hand worked to clutch as whatever hairs it could, though it mostly only clubbed Sam’s head a few times as Dean maneuvered around. Sam didn’t mind though.

Sam curled his arm around Dean’s waist more, bringing him onto Sam’s chest so that Dean’s legs laid down between Sam’s, and he held tightly onto Dean’s sides above his shirt, as he was determined to keep his hands from playing out over bare skin.

Dean pulled his mouth from Sam’s with a wet _pop_ and continued moving his mouth down as Sam stared up at the beautiful orange, pink and yellow sky as he took quick, deep breaths.

Sam released his grip on Dean’s sides and moved his hands up to hold Dean’s shoulders as Dean sucked bruises onto Sam’s neck.

He shivered when Dean’s lips latched onto the hollow of his throat and sucked. Heat was pooling in his groin and he could feel his erection grinding into Dean’s belly.

Dean grabbed hard at Sam’s hair with his broken hand while his good hand teased it’s way slowly down and toyed with the hem of Sam’s shirt.

Sam wanted to do so much, he wanted to respond verbally and physically to what Dean was doing but he didn’t want to startle Dean away from something that he had worked the confidence up to do.

After teasing Sam to the brink of his sexual patience Dean allowed his hand to slither up under Sam’s shirt and at that first skin on skin contact Sam moaned and trembled like he had never been touched before.

Dean’s lips were still sealing themselves over random spots on Sam’s neck – and now collar bone – and just as Dean’s hand reached Sam’s left nipple Dean lifted his head and latched his mouth over Sam’s right nipple right through the fabric of his t-shirt.

The sensation was too much and Sam gave up the pretense of not doing anything in response to grind his hips up into the wonderful friction it found in the form of Dean’s tummy.

Dean pulled his legs up and got onto his knees, so Sam latched his legs around Dean’s waist and started pulling his hips up so that he could grind his erection into Dean’s.

At their first twin moans at the action Sam couldn’t help but laugh and smile. 

God he loved this.

Dean’s face lifted from Sam’s chest and they locked eyes – both of them with wide blown pupils – and grins that clearly broadcasted how happy they both were.

Dean leaned forward and Sam’s lips met his in a short kiss before Dean started traveling down Sam’s body.

He would stop to caress a part of Sam’s body, or to suck the fabric of his shirt and the skin under said fabric into his hot mouth – just teasing, fleeting, touches – before his face was level with Sam’s crotch.

It took both of Dean’s hands to pull at the button flys on Sam’s pants, and Sam had to throw his head back and bare his throat in order to get enough oxygen as Dean started nuzzling at the warm flesh still covered by his boxers.

When Dean reached tentative fingers through the front slit of his boxers Sam threw his arms out wide and tried to unsuccessfully hold onto the slick glass surface of the windshield.

He wasn’t going to thrust. He wasn’t going to thrust. He wasn’t going to – _damn_.

He thrust up into Dean’s tight fist and groaned.

“Dean,” Sam gasped out.

And he heard a smug little chuckle from between his legs.

And _shit_ if that didn’t get him impossibly harder.

Dean bent over and started lapping at Sam’s dick through the fabric, he wasn’t about to put his mouth on Sam’s bare flesh – Sam knew that much, how, he wasn’t sure, he just did – but Dean was perfectly content mouthing at Sam’s piece as he jerked him off. 

Dean had a perfect rhythm going, and Sam had to seriously question whether or not Dean had done this before, when Dean started gnawing at the vein on the underside of his cock.

 _Holy fuck_. 

Sam didn’t even think that could feel that good. It wasn’t like Dean was biting him, no; he was simply pressing his teeth into the sensitive flesh and nibbled at it. Like a fucking rat with a cracker. 

And son of a bitch, did that get Sam off embarrassingly _quick_.

He came like a thirteen year old with no experience and soiled the front of his boxers as well as Dean’s hand.

Sam grunted and shouted as he came, crying out Dean’s name somewhere in the middle of it.

By the time he had come down his pants were buttoned up again and Dean was curled back on his chest, huge ass smile in place as if he were the one to just get off, and if the wet spot at the front of his jeans were any indication, then he probably had.

Sam tightened his arm around Dean and kissed his lips again, slowly this time. 

“Love you Dean.”

He felt Dean smile through their kiss. “Love you too Sam.”


	22. Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Just a quick reminder for the chapter. Sam's name in this fic is Sam Winchester, Dean's name is Dean Campbell.... 
> 
> Let me know what you guys are thinking of the story so far. I plan on this being quite the extensive fic, so if you have ideas or suggestions on where you want me to go, or scenes between the boys that you'd like to see then I encourage you to send them! I love hearing from my readers!!
> 
> Thanks!

Sam and Dean were sitting in the waiting room at the hospital. Dean was finally getting his cast off today.

Sam was excited about that, but for some reason Dean had become sullen and unresponsive towards Sam ever since they had found out about Dean’s appointment. 

A little more than a week had passed since Sam took Dean out to get his driver’s license – which he had yet to tell Mary or Michael about – and Dean had been doing wonderfully. He had been speaking in short words, two or three usually, towards Sam and Dean seemed more comfortable with holding Sam’s hand, in public and in private. 

So two days ago when Mary had asked Sam if he could take Dean to his appointment and Dean seemed to all of a sudden shut down it had taken Sam a while to put two and two together. While Sam was doing all he could to help repair what was broken inside of Dean the reminders of his attack were always going to come back to undo his hard work. 

Everything that happened which caused Dean to remember made him withdraw inside of himself. He would stop talking in the short words that he could usually find when in Sam’s presence and he no longer sought out Sam’s hand. 

His confidence just vanished.

That didn’t hold Sam back though; it would take a lot more to keep him from being affectionate towards Dean, which is why he had pulled Dean up against his side as best as he could with an arm rest between them and he held tightly onto Dean as he looked down at his casted hand.

They had been in the waiting room for twenty minutes – as they had shown up a little early – and Sam had had to pull Dean’s lip from his teeth twice so far. 

Dean was getting really uncomfortable the longer they sat there and his composure at being in a _hospital_ of all places was making him lose his composure rapidly. 

Sam tried to look at it from Dean’s perspective, which wasn’t all that hard to do. 

Dean had told him already that his stay at the hospital after his attack had been unpleasant and embarrassing, he remembered him mentioning that he had been naked long after the attack – which Sam speculated was due to injuries, as he couldn’t come up with a better explanation for it and he _refused_ to ask Dean about the subject – which had to be traumatic and lingering. 

And the last time Dean had woke up in a hospital he had been damn near successful in taking his own life.

He couldn’t blame Dean for hating hospitals.

Sam put an arm around Dean and pulled him so that his face was pressed into his neck and Dean went willingly. He could feel the tension drain away from his shoulders as Dean turned his attention away from the hospital waiting room and instead focused on Sam’s beating heart against his ear.

Sam ducked his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back to try and keep him relaxed until the experience was over.

He heard a small sniffle and realized that Dean was crying against his neck.

Sam didn’t even try getting Dean to stop. He wasn’t crying because he was hurt or sad, he was crying because he was uncomfortable, because he didn’t like where they were and what that did to his memories.

He simply held him tighter and pulled Dean’s face from his neck so he could thumb away the tears from his cheeks. 

Dean kept his eyes downcast and Sam kept thumbing at his cheeks, placing small kisses to his forehead.

A hospital waiting room wasn’t really the place to be publicly displaying their feelings for each other, but it calmed Dean down and Sam really couldn’t conjure up the effort to care about what other people thought.

Dean ducked back down and put his head under Sam’s chin to seek more comfort and Sam let him. 

He rested his chin on top of Dean’s head as the younger teen clung to him and Sam ran his hand up and down Dean’s back.

Sam caught eyes with the receptionist that they had checked in with and she offered Sam a sweet, knowing smile. His cheeks pinked up a little but she merely looked back at her computer, smile still in place, and Sam felt happier knowing that people appreciated the sight of Sam comforting Dean.

It was only a few more minutes when a nurse wearing lavender scrubs walked into the room and called Dean’s name out.

“Dean Campbell?”

Sam lifted a hand and waved at her to get her attention while he slowly pushed Dean into a straighter position.

“You ready?” Sam asked quietly pulling Dean to his feet. 

Dean nodded, but his pale complexion said otherwise. 

Sam put an arm around Dean’s waist and the two of them followed after the nurse.

*****

They ended up in a small room with Dean seated in a padded chair with adjustable arm rests on it. 

The nurse caught on early that Dean wasn’t much for conversation, but she kept talking anyways.

“Bet you’re happy to be getting the cast off and the pins out huh?” She asked setting out some pliers and scissors that Sam imagined would be used in removing Dean’s cast.

Dean was eyeing the equipment being laid out, but nodded all the same. 

“The doctor should be here in a few minutes, and then we’ll get started. Shouldn’t take all that long to get everything off and out, but let me run you down how this is going to work.”

She sat down in the rolling chair and rolled closer to Dean, grabbing his casted hand and putting it on the adjustable arm rest.

“We’re going to start up here,” she said pointing at Dean’s thumb, “and we’re basically going to make a large crack all the way down to your elbow with this little saw we have. And don’t worry; it’s not going to cut him.” She said quickly before Sam could ask.

“Do you cut the rest of the cast off then?” Sam asked not knowing how they actually removed casts.

“Yep. Once we saw through the hard parts of the cast the rest can come off with a few quick clips with some scissors.”

“What about Dean’s pins then?” Sam asked and immediately grabbed Dean’s good hand. 

Dean had really freaked out whenever anything got near the small plastic bulbs by his knuckles – even before his most recent accident – because if something touched them hard enough it would jar the rest of the pin which ran deep into the finger bones in his hand and caused a fair amount of pain.

“He doesn’t really like anything touching those,” Sam added.

“That’s what the pliers are for,” she said with a grimace. “The doctor is going to get a good grip on them and pull them out quick.”

Dean went even more white – if that was possible – and his cheeks took on a faint green tinge. 

“Is there a bucket or something we can have on hand in case he – y’know?” Sam motioned towards Dean.

“Of course,” the nurse stood up and retrieved a bucket just for that purpose. “Some people react just that way when the pins come out.” She handed the bucket over to Sam who held it in his free hand. 

“I’m going to be helping the doctor with the cast and the pins, so I’ll let you be in charge of the bucket if Dean needs it.”

She leaned forward and wiped a towel over Dean’s brow which had got a little sweaty as they talked.

Dean wasn’t responding to either of them at this point and Sam was worried that Dean had completely turned inside of himself at the idea of experiencing any pain in his hand.

“Dean?” Sam knelt down beside the chair and reached up to caress Dean’s cheek. “You with me baby?” 

Dean visibly swallowed and his head dipped – ever so slightly – in a nod to signal he was listening. 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked as the nurse slipped out of the room.

Dean didn’t say anything – which Sam was expecting – but he did suck his bottom lip into his mouth and start chewing on it even as Sam watched. 

He reached up and pulled Dean’s lip from his mouth once again.

Dean wasn’t going to have a good reaction to what was going on, and there wasn’t much that Sam could do other than what he was already doing. He would just have to deal with the fact that this was one of those times Dr. Schmidt had talked about. 

One of those depressing moments in time where Dean just needed to be inside his own mind – more than usual – for a while and work things out before he could come out again. And Sam would just have to be content knowing that he would be there for Dean giving him the time and attention that he needed in order to get better.

As Sam was petting softly at Dean’s pale face the nurse walked back in with a doctor following behind her.

The nurse smiled as she wordlessly passed a can of orange juice over to Sam, which he nodded and took, understanding that he was to use it in the event that Dean felt ill or like he was going to pass out.

As if knowing that he was entering a tender situation the doctor sat down and spoke in soft words.

“Hey Dean, I’m going to get started on removing your cast and pins. That okay?”

Dean gave no outward indication that he was paying attention.

“He’s okay,” Sam answered for him, “just a little freaked at the moment.”

The doctor nodded and moved Dean’s arm around on the armrest.

He maneuvered it so that the black sharpie drawings that Sam had scribbled over the white cast the night before were now visible. 

Sam smiled at that and thought back to what he had drawn on the cast while Dean was sleeping.

*****

Sam couldn’t sleep.

In the morning he was driving Dean to the hospital to get his cast removed and Sam _knew_ that Dean was uncomfortable with the idea. 

It would have been completely different if Sam didn’t have to take him to the hospital, then it would have been bearable for Dean. But a _hospital_ ?

That just put Dean on the verge of a panic attack.

Sam shifted around on Dean’s bed to stare at the younger boy as he slept.

Mary had informed Sam that she doctored Dean’s milk at dinner, slipping a sleeping pill into it so that Dean would sleep soundly through the night and not end up in a fitful sleep like he had the night before. 

Sam wasn’t too sure how comfortable he was with the idea until he had looked more closely at Dean’s eyes at dinner and noticed the dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping the night before.

And then he just kind of loved how awesome Dean’s mom was.

Because of the sleeping pill Dean had fallen asleep quickly after dinner and it was up to Sam to carry him to bed, which wasn’t all that different from most nights. Sam would have had to carry Dean up the stairs anyways, as the only time he willingly went up them was the morning that Sam got Dean his driver’s license. 

What was different about it was the fact that Dean was totally unconscious and Sam carried him bride-style up the stairs before tucking him in bed.

Sam had then excused himself to spend a few extra hours with his aunt and uncle, talking about plans for the upcoming school year and whether or not he was going to assist Ellen at the bar when college students would be inhabiting the nearby campuses once again and coming in for drinks.

By the time Sam got back and climbed into bed with Dean the smaller boy had worked himself to the center of the bed and was spread eagle on his back, taking up as much space as possible. 

Sam had to maneuver Dean onto half of the bed so that he could have enough room to get his head on the pillow and to keep himself from the risk of dropping off the side of the bed. 

He had lain in bed then, but had been unable to fall asleep. 

Sam propped himself up on his elbow, head resting in his hand as he laid on his stomach and stared at Dean’s sleeping face.

He was allowed to look at Dean during the day – sure – but it didn’t compare to this. Dean didn’t mind Sam staring at him too much, but if he caught Sam doing it then his cheeks would break out into an adorable blush. It wasn’t really a problem, but whenever Dean’s face did that it would make it harder to see the small freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks. And that just kind of sucked.

Sam scooted closer on the bed and looked closer at Dean’s face. He had pulled the curtains open earlier and the light made it easier to distinguish the small brown dots that resided on Dean’s face.

He reached his hand up and slowly brought the pad of his finger up to Dean’s face. His finger hovered just above the tip of Dean’s nose and carefully – oh so carefully – he brushed the skin. 

Dean’s nose crinkled and a soft snuffle escaped him before his features relaxed in sleep again. 

Sam smiled and settled in closer so that he could do it again.

This time Dean turned his head around a bit at the movement and he ended up facing Sam, his lips open and his warm breath puffing out over Sam’s face.

Sam moved his arm down lower on the bed so he could reach with his finger and lightly touch at the pouted part of Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s tongue poked out of his mouth and chased after Sam’s finger and his grin broke out even wider. 

He did it a fourth time, this time touching the soft crease of Dean’s left eyelid and Dean responded in his sleep by accidentally clubbing Sam’s head with his casted hand. 

Sam stifled a yelp at being struck and caught Dean’s arm before it could do more damage, laying it flat on the bed tucked next to Dean’s side. 

Sam stared at the plain white cast and frowned. He hadn’t actually gotten around to signing the thing, and Dean was scheduled to get it taken off in the morning.

He looked up toward Dean’s desk where a pencil holder sat and got out of the bed to see if he could scrounge up a black marker.

It took some digging, but he eventually found what he was looking for.

Sam went back to the bed and laid sideways on it so that his face came to rest with Dean’s arm, while the other half of him fell of the bed and touched the floor. 

He uncapped the marker and started working.

He wrote out small snippets of poems he had read aloud to Dean. Signed his name a dozen different ways in different handwriting. And then he moved on to just doodling random things over the white cast. 

With the size of the white cast and the fact that Sam was working with a fine-tipped marker it meant that Sam was able to work long past his conscious mind’s interest in the task, and after twenty minutes of random writing he looked down and felt himself freeze at what he had just written in large block letters across Dean’s cast.

DEAN WINCHESTER

Sam’s hand holding the marker shook as he looked at what he had done. Sam had never been the one to dreamily doodle someone’s name in his notebook before, but he had clearly just written out his boyfriend’s first name with Sam’s last name.

DEAN WINCHESTER

The name just looked right to Sam. 

He sighed and brought the marker back down to the cast. He didn’t want Dean waking up with that on his arm, let alone having someone like his mom or dad see it and start asking questions. Sam blacked out the name and then frowned at the large black rectangle that marred the cast’s surface, trying to think of what to do with what he had just done.

And idea formed and an evil little smirk spread over Sam’s face as he went back to drawing.

*****

The doctor couldn’t help but chuckle at the drawing he had revealed on the underside of Dean’s cast that conveniently hid the name ‘Dean Winchester’.

It was a large – crudely drawn – erect penis. 

Sam smiled and laughed too.

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t draw a penis on my boyfriend’s cast?” Sam asked.

The doctor laughed again, “I feel like it’s a mandatory drawing for boys Dean’s age.”

Sam smiled and then locked eyes on Dean’s mouth which was no longer working to bite his lips off, but was quirked into some semblance of a small smile. 

With no other words offered the doctor got to work, starting up the small saw and began removing Dean’s cast.

Sam watched with interest as the plaster came away into two sections, revealing white skin underneath. 

“Dean make sure you keep your fingers still until I have the pins removed.”

Dean nodded.

The nurse and doctor crowded around Dean’s arm while they removed the pins, so Sam was unable to watch, but knew exactly when the pins were pulled by the flinching that appeared on Dean’s face. 

There were four pins total and after four flinches Sam quietly asked if he could see one of them.

The doctor turned on his seat and held out one of the pins in the jaws of the pliers. It was about four inches long and much thicker than the average needle. It looked more like the thickness of lead found in pencils that you sharpened. 

Small drips of red clung to the surface and Sam pursed his lips thinking about how the pin was just inside of Dean’s hand holing one of his bones in place.

“Okay, I’m good,” Sam said holding up a hand and turning his attention back to Dean now that his morbid curiosity was satiated. 

“How you feeling?” Sam reached up and ran his hand through Dean’s hair, hand collecting small droplets of sweat.

“Wasn’t so bad? Was it?” the nurse asked as she wrapped Dean’s knuckles in the gauze padding she had laid out earlier.

Dean shook his head a fraction and Sam smiled. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“You want to keep any of this stuff?” the doctor asked motioning toward the pins and the cast.

“Uhm,” Sam looked over at the slightly bloody reminder about what had happened to Dean, and then his eyes landed on the large penis he had drawn on Dean’s cast, and what it was hiding. “Can I take the cast with?”

“Sure,” the doctor removed most of the broken pieces and then stacked the two parts of the cast together so that Sam could carry them.

“Thanks.”

*****

Once Dean’s knuckles were wrapped up to cover the holes of where the pins were and Dean’s hand and wrist were covered with a removable soft cast Sam was escorting Dean from the hospital. Dean wrapped up in one arm and Dean’s cast safely tucked under the other.

It might have been a gruesome reminder of what Dean had been through, but Sam selfishly wanted to keep it for himself. As a reminder of the first time he had written out Dean’s name as Dean Winchester.


	23. These Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes care of Dean after getting his pins removed stirs up his nightmares once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while since I posted. I usually like posting once a week, but life gets in the way on occasion. Anyways, I love getting comments on my work. Let me know what ya'll are thinking and let me know if there are any scenes you'd like to see, or any comments in general. I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!

Dean had been quiet all night.

Usually when it was just the two of them alone Dean would spout out a few words here and there. He’d say his name most frequently, but there were a few other words that had been slowly thrown into the mix over the last couple of days.

But that night Sam couldn’t even get a ‘Sam’ out of Dean.

He had stopped for something to eat after the hospital – going through the drive through and eating in Sam’s car at the park so they could people watch without Dean feeling over-exposed – but Dean didn’t finish even half of his fries, didn’t even try touching the burger Sam had ordered for him. He more or less chewed on the French fries like they were strips of cardboard and sipped at his rootbeer.

Dean hadn’t been much better at dinner time. 

He spent the entire meal pushing food around on his plate, but didn’t take a bite of anything despite what Sam was whispering towards him.

He also refused to use his right arm either. It had been pretty difficult while the cast was on but Dean usually persisted in using the hand for some small tasks. Now he was only using his left hand for things, like using it to maneuver his fork around on his plate despite the fact that the movements were less than coordinated.

After helping Mary and Michael clean up after dinner Sam called it a night and hauled Dean’s ass upstairs to bed.

He set Dean down softly on the end of the bed and shrugged out of his backpack which he stopped by his house to pick up when he dropped off Dean’s cast shortly after returning from their failed trip to the park.

Next week Sam had his final in his last class for the summer – just in time for Cross Country practice to begin again, and two weeks out until school started.

Dean stayed at the end of the bed, his left arm sitting loosely in his lap and his right hand hidden underneath of his t-shirt, and burrowed down far enough that the hem of his shirt hid Dean’s forearm up to the elbow.

Sam had noticed that Dean had started doing it after they left the hospital, and chalked it up to Dean not wanting to look at his hand. It seemed to strange to Sam, he would have thought that removing the cast would have been beneficial to Dean’s state of mental health. As if having one of the physical reminders gone would be one less obstacle in the way of Dean’s recovery.

All it really seemed to do however was the proverbial one step forward, and three steps back.

Sam dropped his backpack on Dean’s desk and toed off his shoes before shucking his pants off. He turned back to the bed where Dean hadn’t moved, but at least the teen was looking back at him, and Sam walked over and knelt between his legs.

“Hey,” Sam spoke softly, “I know today sucked. I know that going there wasn’t something you wanted to do, and I understand that you’re scared right now and that you just want to retreat into your head for a little bit.”

Dean sniffed a little and his eyes watered a bit.

“I’m not mad at you Dean,” Sam said reaching up to cup Dean’s face while giving a subtle shake to his head, “I’m not mad at you for needing to do this, I just wanted to let you know that I understand.”

Sam rubbed his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks despite the fact that he hadn’t actually started to cry. 

“You can pull back into your head as much as you need to, but you just need to promise me one thing. Okay?”

Dean nodded.

“Promise me you’ll come back?”

Sam’s eyes locked with Dean’s and a few fat tears escaped down Dean’s cheek before he nodded.

Sam smiled a bit and kissed Dean’s forehead – somehow knowing that now wasn’t the time to push Dean for more physical contact.

“Alright, I’m going to study for my final next week, and you’re going to shower and get ready for bed. Got it?”

There was the slightest curve to Dean’s lips as he nodded and got off the bed to grab some pajamas to change into before going to the bathroom to shower.

Sam positioned himself at Dean’s desk and laid out all of his books and the material that he needed to study. And then before he dove in he leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath, holding it and allowing it to calm him down as he looked up at the wall and all of the posters he and Dean had tacked up what feels like a lifetime ago. 

His eyes landed on the one with the half-naked woman on the front hood of a car and he frowned. Somebody really needed to organize a photo-shoot with hot guys draping themselves over classic cars while wearing barely there clothing.

He grabbed the first of his textbooks and got to work.

Half an hour later Dean was walking back into the room. Skin soft and pink from his hot shower, and hair tamped down flat without his attempt to style it. He was dressed in some loose-fitting – clarification: everything was loose-fitting on Dean at the moment, but these were _actually_ meant to be that way – sleep pants and a gray cotton shirt which was rucked up at the waist where Dean had stuffed his right hand to keep it hidden from view. 

Sam was half-aware of Dean moving around on the bed behind him, but was mostly paying attention to his notes that he was rereading in preparation for his test.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later when Sam leaned back in his chair to straighten a crick in his back that he glanced over to the bed and saw that Dean hadn’t made any attempt at falling asleep. 

Sam immediately straightened himself and frowned. 

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t look up – he was staring blankly at his lap – and offered up a half shrug. 

Sam got up and out of his chair and crossed the room to sit next to Dean on the bed.

“Dean, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Dean picked at the comforter a few more times before hesitantly looking up at Sam.

He didn’t say anything, and his face wasn’t too specific on it, but his eyes were definitely asking a question.

“What is it?”

Dean swallowed and his eyes moved from Sam’s, to Sam’s lips, back up to Sam’s eyes.

_A goodnight kiss?_

And Sam smiled.

“Sure thing baby boy.”

Sam kept it light and chaste. Not wanting to scare Dean away, and allowed Dean to keep the timing on this one.

When their lips finally parted Sam stroked his hand through Dean’s hair.

“You all good?”

Dean nodded and scooted down further under the covers.

“Good.” Sam reiterated helping to tuck Dean in. “Now get some sleep.”

*****

Sam was up until about one in the morning rereading his notes. Not the longest he had gone for a study session, but not one of his shorter ones either. 

When he had reached the points where his eyes were no longer capable of reading the words he had scribbled into his notebook he called it a night, closing up his stuff and turning off the small desk light he had been seeing with.

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand as he shuffled over to Dean on the bed. 

Dean had fallen asleep shortly after his kiss from Sam and had curled up into a tight ball in the center of his bed while Sam was working.

Sam took a moment to just stand at the edge of Dean’s bed and look down at the small lump that he created. Dean looked downright adorable when he was sleeping, like a cuddly little kitten that you just wanted to snuggle with.

And Sam wasn’t a man to resist temptation, which is why he enthusiastically burrowed under the covers and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, dragging him across the sheets a few inches so that Sam could properly snuggle him.

Sam adjusted his hips so that they aligned with Dean’s and hooked his arms underneath of Dean’s so that they could spoon in comfort for the rest of the night. The hairs at the back of Dean’s head tickled his nose and smelled strongly of Dean’s shampoo and Sam was content to bury his nose in the soft hairs and breathe in the calming scent.

He was just about to drop off into unconsciousness when he felt it.

This strange sensation that caused the front of his thighs and his lower belly to itch even as they were encompassed with a soothing warmth.

Sam felt his stomach drop even as he sat up to run his hand along Dean’s sheets. And he didn’t need his hand to come up wet to confirm what he thought it was.

His throat closed up when the realization hit that Dean had wet the bed for a second time since Sam had known him. 

He took in a deep breath to keep himself in check – he would be no help to Dean if he couldn’t keep himself calm – and then looked down to Dean.

It was then that he noticed that small tremors were working their way through his body as he slept, he was undoubtedly locked in another nightmare.

Sam pulled himself from where he was tangled up in the sheets and worked to do the same to Dean’s legs.

“Dean?” Sam said as reached into the blankets to extract Dean’s legs. Dean twisted and jerked on the sheets when Sam’s hands made contact with him.

“C’mon baby, work with me here,” Sam whispered harshly.

Sam crawled out of the bed and pulled the sheets down to expose Dean’s legs, to which Dean rolled onto his back; left arm raised up to defend himself and right arm tucked safely out of view under his shirt.

“You waking up?” Sam said nervously as he knelt next to the bed. Dean’s eyes were open now from what Sam could see, but they weren’t focusing on anything. 

Sam reached out to cup Dean’s face and turn him to look at Sam, but when his fingers touched the skin on his cheek Dean’s entire body gave a violent jerk in the opposite direction.

Dean was making an awful wheezing sound and now Sam knew that though his eyes were open Dean wasn’t awake and was still trapped in whatever nightmare had caused him to wet the bed.

It was hard for Sam to calm Dean down without touching him, for he had no doubts that at the moment Dean thought that Sam was the man who had attacked him. 

He had to settle for speaking soft and comforting phrases “I’m here – s’just me sweetheart – no one’s going to hurt you,” and freeing Dean from the wet bedding so that he no longer felt trapped.

After ten long minutes the panicked wheezing dropped off to make way for deep and heavy breaths that were mixed with Dean’s airy whispered pleas of “no please – please don’t. N-no I don’t – no – please stop.”

Dean was trembling and curled up – right arm stuffed under his shirt, left thrown around his knees which he kept clutched to his chest.

Sam risked running his hand through Dean’s sweaty hair and the comforting touch seemed to break through Dean’s nightmare.

His body lurched forward on the bed as if the tension was like a physical string pulling him up and keeping him tense, and his body sagged and fell into Sam’s once he realized he was safe and Sam was there. 

Dean latched onto Sam and refused to let go – his arms so tight around Sam’s neck that Sam was actually kind of worried Dean might accidentally suffocate him.

Sam threw his arms around Dean’s waist and held on just as hard. Normally Sam wouldn’t squeeze the delicate teen quite so much, but he instinctually recognized Dean’s need for reaffirming pressure.

His arms were so tight around Dean’s torso that he could feel his wrist pressing into the bumps on his spine and he could feel his ribs pressing out at his sides. 

Sam was in an odd half crouch at the side of the bed and though his thighs were starting to complain about the position he refused to move. 

Dean took the comfort he needed and slowly fell away from Sam, dropping back onto the bed and closing his eyes in easily recognizable exhaustion.

Sam doubted he even noticed that the bed was wet.

Sam got up and quickly crossed the hall to retrieve a damp hand towel from the bathroom and came back to sit on the bed. Dean was half asleep which made for a strange combination of easy and difficult when it came to propping Dean’s knees up to tug his pants and boxers off. 

Dean was complacent as Sam toweled off his cheeks, his penis and his thighs before slipping him into a dry pair of boxers. But Sam laid a hand on his tummy and rubbed it to get Dean fully alert again.

Dean turned his head and stared at Sam with a small adorable frown.

“Shirt,” Sam said simply, not vocalizing the fact that Dean’s shirt was soaked at the back, or what it was soaked with.

Sam helped Dean to sit up and deposited a clean shirt in Dean’s lap.

Dean immediately started tugging at the hem of his shirt and so Sam turned away so that he wouldn’t see Dean’s chest.

“Sam?”

Sam looked back over his shoulder to see Dean’s eyebrow quirked. 

“Your scars,” Sam offered as an explanation.

Dean shook his head, “s’okay.” He went to pull up on the hem of his shirt and Sam stopped him.

“Dean, if you’re ready to show me your scars then trust me, I’m thrilled,” Sam said rubbing his thumbs across Dean’s shoulders, “but not tonight okay? Let’s just change your shirt and get you back into a clean bed. We can do this some other time.”

Dean nodded and allowed Sam to turn away while he changed his shirt.

Once that was done Sam pulled Dean from the bed and had him sit in his desk chair while Sam stripped the bed and brought the bundle to the laundry room to put it through the wash. He then grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and went back upstairs.

With clean towels from the bathroom Sam simultaneously dried off the mattress and made a nest of blankets and pillows at the foot of the bed that he laid Dean down on. 

Finally clean, dry and warm Dean dropped off to sleep almost immediately after Sam cozied up behind him on their makeshift bed.

Sam nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck the rest of the night and held him tight in his arms as Dean slept. He only let him go when he switched the sheets over and again when he got the sheets out of the dryer to remake the bed.

It wasn’t until Sam went to move Dean back into bed did he realize that he hadn’t changed out of his own wet clothes. 

Sam made a quick change and crawled back in bed behind Dean where he belonged.


	24. Cat Eyes

Sam sat forward a little bit on the plastic chair he was on and readjusted his hands in his lap just to keep himself calm. 

He let out a sigh and Mary – who was in the chair next to him – squeezed his knee in a comforting gesture.

Sam gave her a small smile and then went back to looking at his lap and nervously twisting his fingers.

The two of them were at his and Dean’s high school – they had an appointment with the principal and the school psychologist to discuss the issues associated with Dean going to school. Sam hadn’t even considered school. He was aware that the start of the new academic year was approaching, but more so as a general observation than something that they needed to figure out. 

Sam was nervous as hell about this meeting that as one of Dean’s ‘caretakers’ he had been asked to attend. Dean’s wasn’t there, something he had been apprehensive about, but when Sam and Mary had left Dean at Sam’s aunt and uncle’s Bobby had started talking shop and was going to bring Dean over to the shop and Dean’s responding smile was so genuine that some of Sam’s fears melted away.

Now that they were about to start the meeting and Sam had to stop himself from once again breaking the skin on his lip from worrying over it so much and Sam was happy that Dr. Schmidt had suggested Dean sit out this first time.

The plan was for the four of them – Sam, Mary the Principal and the school psychologist – to meet and generate possible solutions to get Dean through the school day as simply and as painlessly as possible. They would hash out their ideas and the following week they’d bring Dean with and talk about plans with him.

Dr. Schmidt had called the Campbell household the day before to make the suggestion that Dean not go to the initial meeting, stating that the unknown setting coupled with strangers and the uncertainty of what Dean’s care plans would require would be enough to launch Dean into a panic attack. 

The door to the Principal’s office opened and Sam’s eyes snapped up to look into the Principal’s. Sam was a good student and stayed well under the older man’s radar enough so that he had never really met the man before him. 

“Mrs. Campbell, Sam, it’s good to meet you.”

Sam stood and prepared himself – officially jealous of Dean for getting to skip out on this particular meeting. 

****

Mary pulled into the driveway at the Campbell’s and Sam immediately jogged over to his own house. His uncle had sent him a text on the way home that he had brought Dean home early from the shop because the younger teen had developed some stomach pains.

Bobby’d managed to get four crackers into the boy – according to his account – before he had carried a comatose Dean upstairs to Sam’s bedroom to sleep.

Sam rushed into the house through the garage and came upon his uncle in the kitchen, “Hey, how is he?” Sam asked quickly, out of breath.

Bobby scratched at his beard, “he’s asleep now, took him upstairs m’self.”

Sam let his mind ghost over the image of Bobby carrying a frail and innocent Dean upstairs.

“Said his stomach wasn’t feeling too well,” Bobby continued.

“He _said_ that?”

Bobby rolled his eyes and dug in his back pocket before slapping a crisp new pocket sized notebook on the counter.

Sam looked down and read the two words written on the paper in Dean’s messy scrawl.

_Stomach hurts_

“S’probably hunger pains,” Bobby said.

Sam nodded in agreement. For some reason at night when Sam came home to spend some time with his aunt and uncle they had been discussing what and how much Dean had eaten that day. And the looks Bobby and Ellen gave Sam when the reports had been _”hardly anything”_ for the last week had been the same looks Michael and Mary had when _watching_ Dean push his dinner around.

“Crackers still upstairs?” Sam asked back-stepping towards the stairs.

“Yeah, go see if you can make your boy feel any better.”

Sam smiled at Bobby’s words as he turned around and went upstairs to his room. 

He stepped softly once outside the door and opened it exceptionally carefully to avoid creaking sounds which could wake Dean from his light slumber.

He poked his head through the opening of the door and smiled at the sight of his blonde haired angel curled up on the center of his bed.

One of the blankets from downstairs was laid over him and Sam looked on with reverence at the precious bundle Dean made on his bed.

The room had a soft stillness to it that Sam was wary to break as he crossed the room and sat on the bed. 

He took a moment for himself to just sit. Just look.

The sound of Dean’s soft breathing could be heard now that Sam was closer and Sam simply enjoyed the sound. Every once in a while at night Sam would prop himself up on one elbow and listen to and watch the simple miracle of Dean sleeping and breathing.

Sam had almost lost that; Dean, alive, warm and breathing.

He exhaled quietly and looked at Dean’s bare forearms – both of them – where they were tucked against Dean’s belly.

Dean had long ago passed the time limit where he had to keep the gauze on his self-harm scar, but the night that Sam took the wrapping off without replacing them Dean had had a small panic attack and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the thick scar on his arm until Sam had covered them up again.

For the past few days Sam had been encouraging Dean to leave the gauze off for as long as possible, and eventually – last night – Dean had been okay with leaving the scar bare. 

Sam reached out and tugged the hand of the arm in question away from Dean’s body.

The scar was still pink – still just a few weeks old – but was healing nicely. The hospital had provided a tube of cream that – with continued application – would make the scar almost unnoticeable. 

Sam could already see it working.

He lightly ran his finger over the pink scar – the ugly black stitches were gone, having slowly dissolved into Dean’s body. Dr. Schmidt had insisted the dissolvable kind be used to avoid the necessity of Dean coming to the hospital to have his stitches removed. 

The doctor was pretty cool; thinking about Dean like that.

Sam released another heavy breath as he removed his fingers from Dean’s skin.

A frown marred Dean’s face – no doubt uncomfortable with his stomach pains despite being asleep. Sam knew just what to do to make Dean feel better. He stood up and toed to the other side of the bed, getting in and crawling in behind Dean without jostling his sleeping angel too much.

Dean snuffled once and turned his face more toward the pillow.

Sam slowly moved his hand over Dean’s hip and felt along the hem of the shirt he was wearing before dipping underneath. As soon as Sam’s warm hand spread out over the expanse of Dean’s sore tummy some of the tension in Dean melted away and he relaxed even further into the mattress.

Sam cupped his hand and smoothed it over the warm, gentle swell of Dean’s belly. The soft section that puffed out just a little bit before the top of his jeans. 

He’d laid his hand over the spot before, but always on top of the fabric, and so he had never felt the thin lines of scar tissue that met in a point just a few inches beneath Dean’s belly button.

This was Sam’s first time feeling them. It seemed a little dubious for Sam to first be touching them with Dean asleep, but Sam was actually happy that it was happening that way. His hand got caught up in a loop, feeling Dean’s scars as he moved his hand downward – the soft ridges moving over his palm before meeting in a point.

He felt the spot over and over for a few minutes, and was happy he had the opportunity to feel them without schooling his reaction or explaining himself to Dean.

Most of the time he loved putting Dean’s needs at the forefront of his mind, because whatever Dean needed or wanted became whatever Sam needed or wanted.

But this was a little different. This was Sam understanding and familiarizing himself with part of Dean, a part of him that he never wanted. And it was something that Dean kept other people from seeing.

And Sam took a few precious moments for himself to feel Dean’s scars, so that he could better understand the boy he loved.

After a few minutes he pulled his hand from under Dean’s shirt and placed his hand over Dean’s sternum and rubbed with enough pressure to get Dean to open his eyes.

Sam propped himself up on the bed and allowed Dean to roll over a bit.

He continued rubbing until the eye fluttering stopped and soft green eyes looked back at him.

Sam smiled, he hated to wake Dean up, but he had learned that one way to combat Dean’s nightmares was for Sam to wake Dean up – if he had fallen asleep – and then snuggle with him in bed. It kept Dean’s subconscious from thinking Sam was Dean’s attacker.

But most important, it kept him dry.

Dean finished rolling over onto his other side, now facing Sam, and closed his heavy eyes before pressing his face to Sam’s chest. Whimpering and nuzzling into Sam.

“C’mon,” Sam said pulling himself higher onto the bed and propping himself against the pillows.

Dean made a face at Sam moving around on the bed.

“Oh, I know, I know, c’mere baby,” gentle as he could Sam lifted Dean and settled him in the “V” of his legs, reclining his back against Sam’s chest.

Dean curled in a little bit and rested his cheek on Sam’s chest. 

Sam pulled the blanket a little higher to cover Dean’s torso before he reached with one hand to rub Dean’s sore tummy.

Dean made a happy noise when Sam’s hand made contact with his belly which made Sam smile.

Dean still hadn’t come out of his head after getting his pins removed.

True to his word Sam allowed Dean the time he needed to let the wound re-heal, and Dean kept his promise by coming back to Sam. And happy noise like the one he just made was his way of showing Sam he was still there. 

Sam nuzzled down slightly and pressed his lips and nose into Dean’s hair.

“How’s your tummy?” Sam asked softly.

Dean shook his head.

_Not good_

“Can you do me a favor?”

Another shake.

Sam smiled at Dean’s snarky attitude. “S’easy I promise.”

Another shake.

“Well too bad,” Sam said reaching for the sleeve of crackers Bobby had left on the nightstand. Sam took a cracker from the plastic wrapping and held it in front of Dean. “I need you to eat some crackers,” Sam said as he started rubbing Dean’s back.

Dean made an unhappy whine and turned to hide his face against Sam’s chest.

“I know your tummy hurts, I know – but I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

Dean’s hand fisted itself in Sam’s shirt.

“C’mon sweetheart, just a few? – please?”

A heavy sigh, and then tired green eyes came out of hiding and Dean released Sam’s shirt to grab the cracker and defiantly showed the whole thing in his mouth.

Dean had a displeased look on his face and chewed with a frown.

“Mmm, you’re my little badass aren’t you?” Sam asked pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder and closing his eyes. 

Dean scoffed, though the sound was thick around half chewed crackers.

Sam heard Dean swallow and he took another cracker from the sleeve and held it out for Dean without looking.

Dean took it and started chewing.

A dozen more crackers passed in the same fashion until Dean tapped Sam’s hand instead of taking the proffered cracker.

Sam sat up and looked at Dean who smacked his lips together and swallowed.

“Thirsty?”

_Yes._

Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held the cracker up higher.

Dean rolled his eyes and took a bite as Sam sent his uncle a text.

Dean shoved the second half of the cracker into his mouth as Sam flipped his phone shut and Sam pressed a kiss to Dean’s nose – to which Dean wrinkled his nose and frowned.

Sam chuckled and went back to rubbing Dean’s back. “You’re like a cat.”

That comment earned him a snort.

“What? You don’t agree?”

Dean looked back at Sam under his lashes with a look that told Sam that if he said that again that he would be sorry.

Sam couldn’t resist – he took the bait. 

“I mean you’ve got the green cat eyes,” Sam began, “all you’re missing is the –.”

Dean interrupted Sam’s talking to dig a pillow out from behind him and pressed it over Sam’s face. He wasn’t doing it with much force but Dean’s out-right playfulness had Sam laughing and fake fighting back. He laid back on the pillows and laughed hard as Dean straddled his chest and held the pillow down harder.

Sam pushed at the pillow as he squirmed, but Dean wasn’t trying to smother Sam as much as he was just trying to hold him down.

Sam continued where he left off between fits of laughter.

“Jus’ missing – the irises!”

Dean abandoned the pillow behind him and resorted to tickling at Sam’s neck and shoulders.

Overcome by joy at realizing that Dean was back from his self-imposed exile and that he was returning with an improvement – playfulness – Sam managed to choke out a final taunt of “and whiskers!” before giving in to his full body laughter.

It was Sam’s celebration, his flood of relief that Dean was getting better, that Sam wasn’t fucking things up more – and he couldn’t muster a single ounce of shame when Bobby walked into Sam’s room with a ginger ale and watched the two boys on the bed. 

It took Dean a moment to notice Bobby at the door before his cheeks lit up all pink and he dropped his head – reverting back to shy, by not closed-off, Dean.

“Take it yer feelin better?” Bobby asked popping the top on the soda and handing it to Dean.

Dean nodded and took a sip. 

Sam propped himself up and Dean leaned back a little – it was strange how comfortable the three men were with Dean sitting on Sam’s lap.

“Dean? Would you like to stay for dinner tonight? Ellen’n I would love to have a chance to chat with you.”

Dean actually smiled and nodded at that which made Sam’s smile that much more genuine. 

Bobby could barely hide his wrinkled smile as he turned and shut the door.

Sam pulled himself from under Dean and scooted against the pillows which better allowed Dean to curl up next to him as he sipped on his ginger ale.

They sat in peace together – Sam toying with the baby hairs at the back of Dean’s neck and Dean takin quick sips while resting his head alongside of Sam’s.

Dean eventually heaved out a sigh and adjusted himself on the bed. Sam immediately recognized it not as regular ‘Dean’ motions, but as boredom, honest-to-God boredom!

Sam’s pride should have been a little deflated at the idea that snuggling wasn’t good enough for his boyfriend, but he was too elated to feel it.

Boredom, or restlessness as Dr. Schmidt had put it, was a sign that part of Dean’s regular mental state had returned and that he was prepared to take on more of his regular activities.

Sam shifted to look at Dean and considered something that Sam had wanted to do with Dean since the first time he’d had dinner at the Campbell’s.

“Bored?” Sam asked knowingly.

Dean nodded. 

Sam reached down and took Dean’s right hand – Dean had stopped stuffing it under his shirt quite so much, which – Sam learned – was to keep Dean from having to see the scars that the pins had left behind. 

“You wanna go do something?”

A quirked eyebrow was his response.

“It’s been five weeks, I kind of want my promised date,” Sam said releasing Dean and scooting to the edge of the bed. 

Sam looked over his shoulder and saw the confusion on Dean’s face at Sam’s choice of words. It took a moment for Dean to remember what promise Sam was talking about. 

Their running date.

Sam was prepared for some mild form of hesitation, but when he stood up and turned around Dean was tipping the ginger ale up in the air to finish it off and was wiping at his lips with the back of his hand as he got out of the bed too.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Sam smiled as he took his boyfriend’s hand and led him out of the house, proud that he was able to display his precious angel to the world – or at least the neighborhood and whoever was at the park. 

It was peaceful to simply be walking alongside of Dean and holding his hand. They hadn’t made too many trips outside together, and all of the times they had had been in the car. So it was nice to get out and actually _do_ something for a change. 

It wasn’t exactly the promised run that Sam wanted – but he didn’t want Dean running with a sore tummy – but getting Dean out of the house and doing something so _normal_ felt wonderful.

They made a loop around the park and Sam got to watch as Dean’s eyes lit up laughing as he watched the rambunctious young children playing on the playground. 

It was entirely corny and cheesy, but Sam led Dean over to the swings and forced Dean to take a seat. 

Dean was smiling wide and bright and Sam’s dimples were popping as he pushed Dean on the swing.

It was such a care-free afternoon.

*****

When they finally arrived back to Sam’s – after Sam called Mary and let her know they wouldn’t be having dinner with them – it was to find that dinner had already been made.

Ellen was just setting out the plates when Sam and Dean walked in.

“Hello boys, why don’t you go wash up and take a seat.”

“Ellen we went to the park, we weren’t playing in mud,” Sam said as he was slipping off his shoes alongside of Dean.

“Uh – huh, and did you _touch_ anything at the park?” 

Sam’s scowl was his reply.

“That’s what I thought – now wash.”

Sam turned his head to Dean and rolled his eyes – which made Dean smile – and they made their way to the kitchen to wash their hands in the sink.

Back in the dining room found Bobby drinking a beer and Ellen serving up Sam and Dean’s plates – dinner was macaroni and hot dogs.

Sam sat down with a blush on his face while Dean paused as his chair and looked to Ellen who was placing a plate at Dean’s spot.

Ellen looked up and noticed Dean’s reaction, “Sam mentioned it was your favorite,” she offered as an explanation before sitting at her own spot to eat.

It had to have taken a lot of energy to make the words heard over the sounds of forks on plates as Sam, Bobby and Ellen began to eat, but somehow Dean’s words were heard over the typical dinner sounds.

“Thank you.”

Ellen and Bobby schooled their reactions better than Sam – who was so surprised by Dean finally saying something in front of someone who wasn’t him for the first time – who aspirated half of the noodles in his mouth and went into a violent coughing fit.

Bobby thwacked on Sam’s back a couple of times before he was able to mumble an “I’m good,” before sipping some water.

When he looked back at Dean Sam could see the slight upturn to his lips, and recognized the fact that Dean was proud with himself at his accomplishment.

Sam reached under the table and pulled out Dean’s left hand to press a quick kiss to the top.

His baby boy was back.


	25. Night Sammy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! I know I kinda disappeared for a while. Didn't mean to! Good news is that my super stressful semester is over, bad news is that the holidays are crazy and they can sometimes dominate my free time. 
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for all icky feelings of abandonment for me leaving you guys hanging...
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!

Dean and Sam were back at the school the following day. Mary was back at work, which was okay, they were just letting Dean know what the plans for him were, and were giving him a few things.

Since Sam had had a chance to meet with everyone before hand he knew what to expect, and his calmness kept Dean’s nerves from becoming frayed. 

They were sitting side by side in the main office waiting for their meeting to begin, and Sam had a firm grasp on Dena’s wrist. His thumb pressed into the soft skin of Dean’s wrist where he could feel if his pulse, so he could intervene if Dean started freaking out – but his pulse remained steady and slow – just like it had been that morning during breakfast. 

Sam was happy to see that Dean was content with their situation at the moment and hoped that his comfort continued until they were able to leave the school.

The sound of shoes muffled by a carpet interrupted Sam’s thoughts, and he looked over Dean’s head to see the principal walking down the hall towards them.

While last time he had been wearing a suit, today he was in jeans and a polo. Sam remembered the tactic that they were using for this meeting with Dean, he could hear the school psychologist in the back of his mind. 

_“We want to keep Dean comfortable, Principal Anderson, it would be helpful if you wore something more casual. Jeans would be great, anything to diffuse your sense of authority in the situation so that Dean feels more relaxed.”_

Just as their principal stepped in front of them Sam and Dean stood up.

“Good morning boys,” he said smiling and shaking their hands, “Mr. Anderson” he said introducing himself to Dean.

“How are you this morning Mr. Anderson?” Sam asked casually shaking his principal’s hand.

“Well, thank you Sam.”

_“Sam, I know you’ve never had incidence to meet with Principal Anderson before, but keep up a conversation with each other. Talk as if you’re casual acquaintances, if Dean gets the impression that you’re familiar with him then Dean won’t feel as uncomfortable.”_

“We were going to have our meeting in a conference room, but our schedules are all kind of mixed up at the moment,” Principal Anderson began as he gestured for Sam and Dean to follow him out of the office. “School starts next week and we’re all running around like –,” he made a swirling gesture around his head and snorted at his own humor. 

_“The conference room is a great way to make Dean feel like he’s being attacked, so I think an impromptu tour around the building would be a great way for Dean to feel more comfortable with his environment before Mrs. Short talks to him about his classes.”_

“Where are we headed to?” Sam asked – though he already knew – while keeping a firm grasp on Dean’s hand.

_“Whatever you do Sam, don’t let go of his hand, you’re going to be there to ground him. So don’t. Let. Go.”_

Principal Anderson turned around as he walked, “Well, I wanted a chance to meet Dean here, but I’ve gotta run off and meet with some of the troops, so I’m going to walk you boys over to Mrs. Short’s room and she’ll be able to go over most of the stuff with you guys. Mrs. Baxter is in a meeting right now and she’ll be around shortly to talk to you after.”

He turned back around and kept up a running commentary on where they were going. They headed through the cafeteria – “the pizza is actually really good!” – and the freshmen and sophomore locker bays – “It’s clean _now_ but wait until you see it next week!” – before walking past the library and the art hallway. 

Principal Anderson gestured towards some empty display cases, “during the year these are always filled with wonderful displays, we’ve got some real talent here.”

“I think one of my ceramics projects made it in there last year,” Sam added to what Principal Anderson had said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was cool seeing it displayed.”

Principal Anderson smiled and nodded as they rounded a corner and stepped into the room that Dean was going to familiarize himself with.

It was a little bit bigger than a standard classroom, and instead of desks there were three large circular tables in the space along with the teacher’s desk which was occupied by Mrs. Short. Two walls were floor to ceiling cupboards that were filled with various supplies and Sam looked calmly about the room with Dean while Principal Anderson walked over to Dean’s new teacher.

“Mrs. Short, how are you this morning?”

Sam and Dean looked over to the woman. 

Mrs. Short was – true to her name – a short woman. Barely clearing Sam’s armpit with the hairs on her head. But she was filled to the brim with personality and bright smiles. 

“Well good morning!” her chipper voice startling Dean for a moment before Sam looked over and saw a barely quirked smile. 

She stood up while tapping a few extra keys on her computer and then turned her hundred watt smile on Sam and Dean.

“Sam,” she said extending her hand and offering a knowing smile. 

“Mrs. Short.”

She then turned her attention to Dean and placed balled up fists on her plump hips, tilting her head to one side and smiling up at him. “And _you_ must be Dean!” she reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder, “how are you doing this morning sweetheart?”

Sam could see a faint blush appear on Dean’s cheeks at the sudden attention coupled with cutsie names. 

He tugged Dean a little closer and answered for him, “he’s okay, just a little nervous.”

“Oh I bet, you’re prepared for an onslaught, but I promise I’m harmless!” Mrs. Short turned away and gathered a few folders and bags off of her desk.

“Sam, Dean, go ahead and take a seat, and Mr. Anderson, I’ll see you later!”

Sam turned to watch Principal Anderson leave the room while he pulled out a chair at one of the tables for Dean to sit down.

Sam offered Principal Anderson a quick wave before sitting down himself.

Mrs. Short plopped down a few folders and a slim black bag before sitting down herself. She opened up a manila folder and scanned it before clearing her throat and looking up at Dean. Sam felt the pulse under his thumb beating a little harder and so he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s hairline.

Mrs. Short flickered her eyes to Sam and picked up on the meaning behind the interaction.

“Dean, I know you’re nervous, new people, new places and the unknown of what I’m going to say is probably wigging you out huh?”

Dean nodded.

“Okay – would it be helpful if I skipped over the small talk and was just blunt with you?”

Another nod.

“I can do that,” she said with a smile. She pulled out two sheets of paper from the manila folder and set them in front of Dean. “Do you know what an IEP or a 504 plan are?”

Dean shook his head.

“Okay, so the IEP means individualized educational plan, and it changes how your teachers teach you. The 504 plan is accommodations provided to you outside of instruction. Which one do you wanna hear about first?”

Dean considered the pages before tapping the one titled IEP.

“Okay – so this is your IEP. Each of your instructors will be receiving a copy of this okay?”

Dean nodded.

“Alright,” she turns the page a little to see what she’s pointing at. “So we have your communication disorder listed here” – and she looks up – “are you comfortable with it being listed that way?”

Another nod.

“And we have the changes to your instructions listed here – it suggests plenty of speeches and oral reports.”

Dean’s head popped up at that and Mrs. Short began to smile.

“I’m _kidding_ , you’re over there looking like someone kicked your puppy! I had to make you smile!”

Dean was, in fact, smiling and made a small noise akin to a laugh.

“I’m letting you take a copy of this stuff home so you can look through it, but it basically says no speeches, and has you sit at the front of the class. It does, however, do something that you might not appreciate.”

And now Dean’s look soured.

“It challenges you to speak one word statements.” She looked into Dean’s eyes and tapped the paper for emphasis, “let me clarify this. It does not _require_ you to speak, it just challenges you to. Okay?”

Dean nodded, though his lips were pressed in a thin line.

“Okay,” she replaced the paper in the folder and turned her attention to the 504 plan. “Now, this one is a bit more involved. For starters it allows you to text or see Sam whenever you feel like you need to.”

“And not because you want a kiss,” Sam interrupted suddenly, “or are bored of your classes. If you come see me it better be life or death important!” 

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes while Sam squeezed his hand.

Mrs. Short just smiled wider and kept going. “It’s for whenever you get too stressed or you need to talk to Sam or your mother. And don’t worry, Sam’s teachers will be notified as well. So don’t worry about getting him in trouble by texting him.”

“It also does a few things for your schedule,” she said digging out another piece of paper and handing it over to Dean.

“You’ll notice you only have core classes and a lunch listed,” she picked up a pen and pointed at the paper as Dean looked. 

“First period Math, second Science, third and fourth you’re with me. Fifth as you’ll see it broken into three chunks. 5A, 5B, and 5C. For A and B you’re in English and you have C lunch.”

Sam watched as Dean’s eyebrows scrunched up as he looked over the fact that he was placed in a senior level English class. Dean pointed at it and looked at Sam with a quirked eyebrow.

“That was me,” Sam said with a little bit of a blush coloring his cheeks. “You seemed to do really well in class with me, so I convinced them to let you try English 12.” 

Dean frowned for a moment before Sam clarified. “I’m going to be in class with you.”

Dean’s head bobbed with understanding before Mrs. Short jumped back in.

“So you’ll have English and lunch with Sam, and sixth and seventh you’ll be with me and we’ll go through History. Now,” she swung around in her chair and pulled a sheet of paper off of her desk and a pen and handed it to Dean. “Do you have any questions?”

Dean considered his schedule for a moment before scratching one word onto the paper and holding it up to Sam to read.

_Gym?_

“Gym,” Sam said aloud holding the note up to Mrs. Short.

“Ah,” she nodded as Sam put the note down. “That decision was made by Mrs. Baxter and your doctor, Dr. Schmidt. They decided that given your history you would do better off without a gym class.”

Sam nodded and silently agreed. The idea of Dean being in a rowdy locker room and forced to undress in front of older classmen and – more importantly – bigger and more muscular guys, would be enough to send Dean into panic attacks on the daily.

“Are you okay with that decision?” Mrs. Short asked unsure.

Sam could see Dean chewing on the inside of his cheek before timidly reaching for the notepad and writing out a longer response. He was slower in giving the note over to Sam to read this time and he got the impression that Dean was a little more self-conscious about what he was writing this time around.

_I have a hard time concentrating. Running helps. Don’t wanna do bad in school. Don’t want pills._

Sam read Dean’s note out loud and looked up to Mrs. Short nodding her head in understanding.

“It’s very possible that you have ADHD,” she said very matter of fact – and Dean nodded as if he already knew. 

“If running helps then I would suggest trying to make up for it outside of school, but I know that that may be difficult,” she licked her lips. “During our last meeting we discussed the possibility of you joining the Cross Country team with Sam… is that something that you’d be interested in?”

Dean nodded slowly.

“Then I’m sure Sam would have no problems talking to the coach about it.”

A soft knock disrupted their quiet session.

Sam looked up to see another woman in the doorway to the classroom – Mrs. Baxter, the school psychologist.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she asked stepping into the room.

“Not at all!” Mrs. Short said, her naturally cheery voice welcoming the room’s new addition. “Come on in Mrs. Baxter, I’m almost finished talking to Dean about my end of things.”

The school’s psychologist was taller and thinner compared to the special Ed teacher’s stout shortness. She came over to the table and pulled up a chair, offering Dean her hand and Sam watched as Dean – with his own sense of confidence – wrapped hands with the slender fingers presented to him.

“Dean, it’s nice to meet you. Your mother and Sam both had wonderful things to say on your behalf,” was the greeting Mrs. Baxter came up with for Dean.

Sam loved watching his cheeks pink up.

Mrs. Baxter looked at Sam across the table – and while it wasn’t too wide for her to reach over and shake hands with Sam – she didn’t make a move to bring any limbs into Dean’s line of vision. 

Sam knew that Mrs. Baxter was well trained in how to act around people like Dean, and he kind of wanted to have a private meeting with her at some time so he could acquire pointers on better helping Dean.

“Go ahead and finish your discussion with Dean, I can jump in when you’re done,” Mrs. Baxter said, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap while she waited.

“Well, you came in at just the right time,” Mrs. Short announced while straightening her papers back into the manila folder. “I was about to tell Dean what kind of mischief we’ll be getting up to while he’s in my classroom.”

Dean’s lips quirked and Sam smiled as well. He had never before had occasion to meet with the high school’s special Ed teacher before, but Mrs. Short had such a boisterous personality that he kind of wished he could have had her for a teacher as well.

“So Dean,” she said straightening herself out. “You’re going to be with me for a majority of your day, and there are two reasons for that. You asked for me to be blunt, and so I’m going to be just that. The first reason is to keep you in a more supervised and secure environment. We’re trying not to step in the way of a proper education for you, but we’re also aware that putting you in with the regular students might not be something that you’re totally prepared for.” 

She licked her lips and assessed Dean’s understanding before she continued. 

“So when you’re with me you’ll have time to adjust to being around people who aren’t your mother and Sam. You and I are going to work on some communication exercises to help you become less dependent on people speaking for you, and you’ll be free to talk to other students in my classes as well. As the semester progresses we’ll see how you’re adjusting and if you find that you’re ready to pick up an elective in a few weeks or so then we’ll address that as it crops up. Okay?”

Dean’s head bobbed in understanding. Sam was happy that Dean wasn’t having an anxiety attack at a complete stranger blatantly talking about Dean’s condition out in the open. 

He squeezed Dean’s hand.

Dean held up two fingers in his method of inquiring what the second reason was.

“You’re also going to be with me because I’m going to be sending you to Mrs. Baxter a few times a week,” Mrs. Short said turning their attention back to the school psychologist.

Mrs. Baxter scooted her chair closer and placed her hand lightly on the table before speaking, “first, I encourage you to call me Louise,” she said smiling to both Sam and Dean – indicating that she meant the request extended to both boys. 

“Dean, I’d like for you to meet with me at least three times a week. I’ve been in communication with Dr. Schmidt – do you remember him?”

Dean nodded. 

“Well, we’ve been talking about what we’re going to do to help you, and I’d like to meet with you in private to discuss any problems that you’re having. Would that be okay with you?”

Dean started aptly at the table’s surface and nodded. 

“Okay. That’s good. We don’t have to go into any more detail about what we’ll be discussing. That will be all private.”

Louise looked up at Sam over the table. “Sam, I know I didn’t mention this last time, but I’d like to see you once a week as well.”

Sam felt his cheeks prickle at that, and finally got a taste of how Dean had been feeling this whole meeting. 

“Y-yeah, okay,” Sam said nodding. 

And now it was Dean’s turn to squeeze Sam’s hand.

Mrs. Short leaned forward while sweeping the forgotten black canvas bag across the table into view, “any more questions?” 

Dean and Sam both shook their heads.

“Okay,” she began unzipping, “I would have given you this right away Dean, but in my experience new toys keeps teenagers from paying attention to conversations.

She opened the bag and removed a sleek looking piece of equipment. It was a cross between a tablet and a small notebook laptop. They had discussed this piece of technology during the last time, and Sam was anxious for Dean to use it. 

Mrs. Short set it on the table and promptly folded the screen up, revealing a slit in the seamless looking screen. Her action woke the tablet/laptop hybrid up. The half of the screen that was up showed blank white space and a blinking cursor, and the half that was flat on the table popped up as a keyboard. 

“This is a fun little gadget here Dean. It’s got a few games on it to keep you entertained or relaxed whenever you’re stressed or bored, but more importantly when you crack it open like this you can type out on it and --,” she broke off to tap two keys on the keyboard before pressing a command key that appeared right above the enter key.

 _“Hi.”_ The computerized voice read out loud. 

Dean’s lips pulled down into an appraising look.

“This is something that the school is supplying you with so that you can communicate more effectively; so you won’t have to rely on pen and paper to have a conversation,” she placed the manila folder into the canvas bag and zipped it up before pushing it across the table to Dean.

“It has a charging cord and a spare battery in the bag as well, so take that home and play with it okay?”

Dean had yet to look up from his new toy and instantly he removed his hand from Sam’s to type out a quick response before hitting the ‘speak’ command with a smile.

_“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me. It helps to know I’ll have you two looking out for me.”_

Sam smiled. He was _so_ looking forward to having real conversations with Dean again.

Mrs. Short and Louise shared a look. 

“Glad we could help.”  
“It’s what we’re here for.”

 

Dean smiled and tapped something else out onto the screen.

_“You ready to go Sammy?”_

The name caught him off-guard and Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat. He had to swallow a few times before responding, “yeah,” he said breathless. 

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed hearing Dean call him that. 

Sam collected the bag for Dean and they all shook hands. 

They walked out the door and this time as they were walking through the school Dean was _finally_ able to ask Sam some questions.

 _“Where’s my locker bay at?”_  
“Is the food in the cafeteria really _all that good?”_  
“Where is your locker gonna be at?”  
“Do the bathroom’s in this school stink? ‘Cause some school bathrooms stink.”  
“Hey, is the football team any good? I really like watching high school football. Think we can go sometime?” 

Sam’s smile got wider with each question. And while the computer voice was a far cry from Dean’s own he could hardly believe that he was actually talking to Dean again.

*****

All anxiety Dean had had before the meeting was gone; having been replaced in spades with utter joy and amazement in the wake of his newfound ‘voice’. 

Sam and Dean got home much too early for Mary or Michael to be home from work, and while Dean had enjoyed typing Sam’s ear off in the car he had wanted to talk with as many people as possible. 

So they had spent two hours at Sam’s house where Ellen was relaxing at home on her day off. 

Sam had a wonderful time watching Wheel of Fortune with his Aunt and boyfriend. Listening to the two of them call out guesses and compliment each other on their correct guesses. 

When it was almost time for Dean’s mom to be home Dean apologized to Ellen profusely. Saying that he had an important question that he had been dying to ask his mom all day, and wanted to be ready the second she got home. 

Ellen has simply smiled with a glassy look in her eyes and hugged him. Saying that she had enjoyed their time together and looked forward to the next time they could sit around and _chat_.

Sam was ecstatic at how things had changed. 

The two had then rushed across the street to beat Mary home and Dean had his question typed out and primed for the ‘speak’ command as Mary walked through the door. 

Sam watched with a few tears as Dean was able to inquire, _“How was your day, Mom?”_

And Dean and Mary had broken into hugs and tears. 

Mary eventually answered the question before responding with her own. Dean had then enjoyed giving Mary a virtual play-by-play of what he had done since waking up that morning. 

Michael had then been subjected to the same round of questioning that Mary had been put through once he got home. 

During dinnertime Dean had dominated the conversation. 

He kept telling the stupidest jokes and then proceeded to type out silly words just to giggle at the computerized voice saying things such as _sprinkles_. 

Mary shut that down after Dean typed out _nipples_ but Sam could tell she wasn’t all that upset at what Dean was saying. 

After dinner Dean smoothed the gadget back down and explored the games that were preinstalled and the two boys got caught up playing with the chess app while curled up on the couch. 

That night as Sam curled himself around Dean – after plugging in Dean’s tablet to charge while he silently played solitaire – and thought that the day couldn’t get any better.

Sam nuzzled his face into Dean’s hair, knowing that the younger teen would play with his new toy until he fell asleep. 

He heard a snap as Dean cracked the tablet to type something out and listening to the lowered volume voice speak out _Night Sammy._

And if Sam cried? Well, then that just proved his previous assessment was wrong. _Now,_ his day couldn’t get any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! I know I kinda disappeared for a while. Didn't mean to! Good news is that my super stressful semester is over, bad news is that the holidays are crazy and they can sometimes dominate my free time. 
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for all icky feelings of abandonment for me leaving you guys hanging...
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!


	26. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to my best friend. Who not only said yes to having a sex scene in this chapter, but gave me the directions of "Dean going down on Sam would be more significant" and "make him enthusiastic" as my guidelines for the scene. I hope I didn't disappoint!
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, this is going up in a rush, and as always:
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!

Sam woke to the sensation of something rubbing against his nose. He scrunched his nose and wiggled it a bit to get rid of the ticklish feeling before burying his head back into the pillow. His mind registered a light huffing sound, but Sam was too sleepy to pay it any attention. 

He had just about dropped off the edge of sleep again before the ticklish sensation was back against his nose. Sam reached up with his hand to brush the feeling away when his fingers ran into the obvious shape of an ear. 

Sam’s squinted eyes opened up to look into round green orbs. Dean was kneeling on the floor and laying across the bed to rub his nose against Sam’s while the older teen slept. Sam could only make out the younger teens eyes, but with the glimpse of bright emerald came the crinkled skin around his eyes. Dean was very clearly smiling. Despite the ungodly hour that the dim lighting in the room suggested Sam could see that Dean was wide awake and excited.

“What’s got you so happy?” Sam grumped pushing himself up to sit.

Dean smiled and Sam heard the tell-tale snap of Dean’s tablet as he prepared to type out a message. 

_“You ready to go on our running date?”_

And _God_ was Dean’s smile adorable, because the flash of white Sam could barely make out beneath those luminous eyes could only be one thing. 

“You wanna go running?” Sam asked and even he could hear the distinct whining tone in his voice. He turned to look at the time; it was four in the morning! No wonder he was so tired. 

“Yeah,” Dean responded.

“Why so early?”

Dean shrugged as he typed, _“Been feeling happy lately, figured it would be nice to get back to my usual schedule.”_

Sam scoffed. “If your usual schedule wakes you up at four AM then count me out,” Sam said flopping back onto the bed. 

His eyes were closed, but he could still hear the sound of Dean’s fingers tapping on the screen as he typed out a response. 

_“Pl. E. E. E. E. E. E. -- .”_

Sam looked over to Dean whose face was scrunched into a pout looking at the gadget as the tablet’s voice got caught in a loop of saying “E” – Sam snorted out a laugh at the fact that Dean was attempting to get his tablet to whine out a “pleeeease” for him. 

Dean just snapped the gadget flat and turned his great big green eyes on Sam in a puppy pout. 

“No,” Sam grumbled turning over on the bed to avoid looking into Dean’s face. 

He felt Dean jump up onto the mattress and soon Dean was digging his nose into the hallow of Sam’s throat and making sad whimpering sounds that would put newborn puppies to shame.

Sam was smiling as he turned his head from side to side trying to dislodge Dean’s face from his neck. Sam’s movement only spurred Dean on, and soon Sam was covered head to toe as Dean attempted to smother him while prompting him in the cruelest way possible to join him for an _early as hell_ morning run.

They were withering around on sleep warm sheets and Dean began moving his lips against Sam’s neck making satisfying humming sounds.

Sam felt his dick start chubbing up on him and that was his queue to get Dean to stop.

He started pushing at Dean’s shoulders to pry him off. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay!” Sam said chuckling. He sat up which caused Dean to slide off of him. 

“I’ll go running with you.”

Dean beamed at him and scooted over to the edge of the bed where he pulled a garment up off of the floor and tossed them into Sam’s face. 

“Shorts,” Dean said without the assistance of his tablet. 

“Thanks.”

Sam got off on his side of the bed, and stripped off his sleep pants and heavy boxers to step into the light-weight running material. “Do I get a shirt?” he asked stepping into the clothing item that was very clearly Deans.

Sam had always enjoyed the feelings he got whenever he saw someone wearing his clothing, and he felt especially warm at the moment knowing that he could give Dean those same feelings. 

A light tank hit his shoulder and Sam pulled the – fortunately stretchy – garment over his head once he had vacated his much larger sleep shirt. 

He turned around to see Dean holding up his tablet and typing out something. He’d had the gadget for a few days, and Sam had already witnessed how it encouraged Dean out of his shell. Dean used it to talk to Bobby, Ellen, Mary and Michael for everything. But Dean only used it on Sam when he was saying something lengthy. Short – one or two word – responses were something that Dean had no problems with when it came to Sam.

_“I’ve never been much of a chatty runner. That okay with you?”_ Dean looked up from the screen to look at Sam.

Sam chuckled, truth be told he never much liked talking during a run anyways. He preferred using the time to think. 

“Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

Dean smiled and together they made their way out of the house. The air outside was crisp and fresh. And goosebumps ran over Sam’s arms as he adjusted to the cool air of the morning. Dean followed Sam up the driveway of Sam’s house to grab his own running shoes – borrowing shorts and a shirt was one thing – and after a round of stretches they took off towards to park.

Sam informed Dean that the run he went on was about six miles and that during the mornings he liked to keep a relaxed ten minutes pace as to not push himself too hard. At the halfway point Sam liked to do a few stretches since his muscles were more relaxed. Reasoning that it helped him to avoid cramps if he got some extra stretching in.

Dean simply nodded and followed Sam on his route.

Usually when Sam ran he thought about school or planned his day. Occasionally he would work through problems that were bothering him a great deal, and other days he would run without having a conscious thought running through his mind. He would just move across the pavement completely at peace with the world. 

That morning he thought about the years of running he had gone through, and how it was currently boggling his mind that he had never once considered running with a partner before. Because running with Dean was fantastic.

It was reassuring to hear an additional set of footsteps on the pavement and the chorus of additional labored breath alongside of his. 

It could have been that Sam’s fascination with running with Dean came with the fact that he had never run with a partner before, or the fact that he was doing something with Dean where Dean’s differences weren’t highlighted. 

You didn’t talk while running – or at least Sam didn’t – it was a silent activity where the only output one was expected to give was physically. And in every aspect of the sport Dean was a wonderful person to run with.

He never once bumped into Sam’s elbow or shoulder like people had a tendency to do. His footsteps kept perfect pace with Sam’s, and it helped Sam to not falter in his steps. 

Dean’s breathing wasn’t breaking Sam’s concentration, and watching Dean’s lean form move about while stretching was great motivation for Sam to finish the run; as Dean’s clothing stuck to his damp skin and Sam was able to spy Dean’s figure. 

He wanted the run to end if only so he could see Dean completely out of breath and sweaty.

Before Sam knew it they were at the end of the Campbell’s driveway stretching at the end of their run, and Sam was attempting to duck away to rub one out in the shower at home before breakfast without Dean knowing what his real reason for turning away was. 

If the chuckle Sam heard while covering his crotch and jogging up the driveway was any indication he hadn’t succeeded. 

Just before Sam came all over the tiled enclosure of his shower he had a startling thought; how would he handle this problem at cross country meets?

*****

They were just over a week removed from the first day of school and Dean couldn’t determine what his current mood was. 

Over the last few days Sam had signed him up for Cross Country and they had met the team for the first time. Dean would’ve been nervous as hell about that had the team not been made up of all of Sam’s friends. 

He was introduced to all of the people Sam had texted throughout the weeks while they had hung out and Dean felt comfortable among the people Sam had cultivated friendships with.

It was strangely freeing, to know that everyone Dean met already knew his story – for the most part. Sam had shared all that was necessary and what Dean was comfortable with people knowing. That he didn’t talk and that he suffered from extreme anxiety. It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth either. 

Practice was set to officially start in about a week, but until then the runners were expected to train on their own. And so the last couple of mornings Sam and Dean had woke up – at a mutually agreed upon time – to run around the park and back.

Dean had really enjoyed spending the time with Sam, mostly because it allowed him to feel like everything was back to some semblance of normal.

The other – slightly less significant fact – was that it was hot as hell to finally be running alongside of the guy who had fueled Dean’s sexual fantasies as a stranger not a few weeks prior.

*****

It was Friday night. The last Friday night of the summer, as school started the following Wednesday, and Dean was relaxing on top of the covers of his bed in sleep pants – no shirt – and was tummy down, half laying on a soft body pillow his mom had bought him shortly after his “accident”.

While he was in the hospital during his initial recovery it was obvious that Dean couldn’t bear to lie on his back, as the trauma and tearing from his backside would throb with the unwanted pressure.

Likewise he couldn’t sleep on his stomach as the cuts that had become infected on his chest were hot an itchy. And they stung enough to bring tears to his eyes should he have laid that way.

So he was relegated to laying on his side. It was a difficult position to keep however, and after only a few short hours of watching Dean struggle to remain comfortable Mary had gone out and bought the over-stuffed, squishy and soft, eight foot long pillow. 

Oddly enough where other materials and objects brought Dean further pain and discomfort, this pillow made it easy for him to loosen and relax.

Not only was he able to cuddle up against a soothing objects, but he found that when he wrapped his arms and legs about the pillow it brought him several unintended perks.

First, was the fact that the large pillow hid a great deal of Dean’s uncovered body, and he was able to mold himself to it. Cuts, welts, and bruises needed constant tending to, and as the nurses periodically popped by to check not just Dean’s chest but his rectal tearing as well it was explained that Dean would be better off naked under the hospital sheet draped across him.

Dean hadn’t liked the decision his doctor had made on his behalf, but when it had been explained that it would be easier on Dean to not be stripped and redressed each time a nurse came by he relented. That and he had to admit it caused a lot less extra movement required from him if he didn’t have to remove a basically useless hospital gown every time a nurse came by to see to him. 

The body pillow had actually worked in favor of the staff as well, as it kept Dean’s chest propped up and available for easier inspection, and his backside was reachable with just a flick of the sheets. 

The two other comforts the body pillow had garnered was the fact that Dean could somehow tolerate mashing the pillow to his battered chest where even the whisper-soft touches of the nurses had stung, and it had been explained that it was likely a psycho-somatic reaction of comfort from the inanimate objects which allowed Dean to filter out the pain it caused him – as explained by his doctor to his parents when they all thought he was asleep.

And the final comfort was that wrapping his right leg over the top of the pillow opened up his cheeks and kept the space between his legs from being subjected to too much unwanted pressure. 

It had been strange to Dean – lying there in that hospital room – that he had found comfort in his legs being splayed open and his asshole bared for anyone peeking under the sheets. But after having the delicate skin of his anus combed over for splinters, stitched up and cleaned by medically licensed hands it was nice to have nothing – not even his own asscheeks – touching the region. 

In the here and now, however, Dean took comfort in the fact that his pillow was a pillow, as Sam was gone at the moment and Dean was really in the mood to snuggle.

Dean yawned hugely into his fist and flicked the page in the car magazine he was ogling. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckle as his yawn had been wide enough to make his eyes water.

He was trying his best to stay awake for Sam, but he had almost fallen asleep earlier in the evening. Sam was at the bar with his aunt, taking up his role as busboy during the weeknights as the local university had opened campus for returning students and the school year rush of bar-goers had officially started.

A few hours previous Dean had been surprised when the front door had rung, shortly after his dad had returned home with pizza, to find Bobby behind the door. It seems Michael had heard about Ellen and Sam being gone for the night and invited the burly man over for beers and pizza.

Dean didn’t think that his father would get along with someone as ungroomed as Sam’s uncle, but they were out on the back porch, clunking beers, with their feet up on the patio furniture like old friends. 

Dean had joined them and enjoyed a conversation which somehow turned to a debate over the merits of the original three Star Wars movies. Dean and the two older men stood firm in their beliefs for which of the first three movies was the best, and soon poor Mary – who wasn’t a fan of the movies _at all_ had been dragged into the living room to witness the start up of the fourth (first) movie as Michael began defending his choice.

With the conclusion of the film came Bobby’s promise to return at some point – or have Dean and Michael over – to watch the final two so that they could continue their debate, as Dean, and then Bobby, were up next in their defense.

Mary had then helped Dean up the stairs – as he still had trouble making it up the stairs alone – where he took a shower before making his way to his room.

It was approaching eleven at the moment, and Sam had promised to be back at “no later than quarter after.”

Dean shivered as the warm water from his shower had dried off completely, and he decided to seek comfort by grabbing his body pillow and hauling the both of them under the covers. He reached out to switch the light off and to carelessly push the magazine off the edge of the bed before he then burrowed himself in the sheets like the mole Sam had accused him of being on more than one occasion. 

He had just found the optimal spot of comfort on his bed when he heard his bedroom door being pushed open. 

Dean’s ears perked up as the dark shape of Sam’s silhouette crept through the door.

“Hey Dean. You awake?” Sam projected into the darkness before he reclosed the bedroom door. “I’m home.”

Dean’s breath caught at that and Sam surely heard Dean’s gasp in the cloying darkness. 

Home. He had said _home_.

Slip up or not, Sam’s choice of words was caught by Dean, but Sam made no move to correct or change what had been said. Instead Dean watched as Sam slipped out of his pants and shirt as he walked to the bed, and he smoothly slid under the sheets with Dean.

Dean allowed the cheap replacement of a body pillow be removed from his grasp since he knew the exchange was for Sam’s warm body instead.

The press of his firm, soft, and perpetually warm chest against Dean’s own naked one sent a definite zing of electricity through his body and suddenly certain parts of Dean that had previously been soft woke the fuck up and went to pound nails hard in an instant.

He was no longer in the mood to just cuddle.

Sam groaned headily against Dean once he realized that Dean was similarly undressed, and before Sam could succeed in pressing their lips together Dean ducked under the covers and worked double time to get Sam’s dick in his mouth right the fuck _now_.

Sam made his surprise at Dean’s actions known by the inelegant squeak that followed Dean under the covers.

Dean’s heart was pounding as he slithered beneath the sheets. The air was warmer as he crawled his way toward the crux of Sam’s legs, and Dean let his momentary bought of lust turn to confidence as he pressed Sam to lie flat as he reached up the leg of Sam’s boxers.

He found Sam in the process of growing completely hard as precome drooled out of his slit. Dean used the fluid to slick up his hand as he enthusiastically jacked Sam into full hardness.

Dean hummed, feeling the growing girth of Sam’s erection as it slowly stretched out. And when Sam’s dick was completely filled out Dean pulled himself closer to Sam’s crotch. One arm up each leg of Sam’s boxers as one hand stroked along Sam’s length and the other rolled the velvety skin of his balls over the pads of his fingers. 

Dean’s mouth, which had been dry as he started falling closer to sleep, was now excessively wet as his mouth burst with salivation at the prospect of actually putting a piece of Sam in his mouth. He slurped the extra spit back in his mouth and swallowed, confident that he could come up with more lubrication without much prompting.

Dean hummed happily as he nosed along the slit in Sam’s boxers and when the tip of his nose finally met the soft curve of Sam’s engorged dick he smiled.

A cool brush of air hit Dean’s face, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized were shut to see Sam peering under the sheets at him. He growled at that. He had no problem with sucking Sam off, but only if no one could see him doing it.

Not even Sam. Strangely enough.

He didn’t know why there was such a fundamental difference in his mind, but there was one. 

He could do this, he could _happily_ do this, just not with anyone watching him.

As desperately as Dean wanted the problem to stem from the fact that he was an awkward, shy virgin, he knew that that wasn’t the cause. His “accident” was completely to blame. And oddly enough, that embarrassed him.

Fortunately for Dean, Sam had become an expert at reading the thoughts behind his facial expressions and with a nod lowered the sheet. Dean heard a chorus of “okay, s’okay,” being said muffled above him as Sam either talked to Dean, himself, or the both of them. And then Dean did his best to focus on his task. 

Using his nose and the hand that slowly jacked Sam’s length from underneath of his boxers Dean was able to coax Sam’s dick out the front of his boxers – which prompted a change in position; causing him to remove the hand that was jacking Sam off from the leg of his boxers and prop himself up higher on his elbows to put the drooling mushroom tip at mouth level. 

Dean eyed down Sam’s dick.

He had got his boyfriend off before. But there was something vastly different about putting such an intimate part of someone into his mouth. 

Before he could lose his confidence Dean popped the bulbous tip into his mouth and he heard Sam respond with a delicious groan. Sam’s legs tucked up around Dean’s back, holding him in a strange version of a lower body hug.

Dean had never done so before, but he found that running his tongue around Sam’s engorged head came to him as naturally as licking his lips free of maple syrup when eating pancakes. That thought made Dean hungry and translated into an even more moist mouth from Dean.

He kept popping the tip in and out from between his lips. Suckling on the head, licking around the hard edges defining the tip and prodding his tongue into Sam’s slit like he was trying to get to the source of Sam’s dribbling precome. 

The hand he kept in the leg of Sam’s boxers was still busy rolling around the soft skin of Sam’s balls, and allowed Dean to better keep track of Sam’s progress in reaching his orgasm – though the quivering thighs about his shoulders were doing an excellent job of that.

Sooner than Dean would have thought every bit of Sam tensed up and Dean barely acknowledged Sams breathy cry of “gunn’ come!” before Sam erupted entirely into Dean’s mouth.

Dean slurped and sucked and swallowed damn near every bit of what Sam had to offer. Dean held Sam’s slowly shrinking length in his mouth, keeping Sam warm and coddled as he went back down to size. When Dean was sure he had escorted Sam to full softness he let Sam’s member slip free and then took it upon himself to kitten-lick the area clean.

Soft chuffs escaped Sam and soon Dean was breathing cool air again as he crawled up towards Sam.

Dean looked at Sam’s open face as the older boy was relaxed against the pillows. His mouth was open in a soft gasp as he panted to catch his breath, and his eyelids flickered open and closed; struggling to remain awake despite having every reason to be sated and fall asleep.

Sam turned and lazily tucked Dean against his chest, letting a happy and contented hum escape him.

Dean smiled wide and nuzzled into Sam’s throat. “Welcome home.”

“Fuck,” Sam snorted, “I’ll say.”

It was right then that Sam went to reach for Dean’s abandoned erection, and, knowing this, Dean reached down and snagged Sam’s hand. Lacing it with his to keep the hand from completing its. task. 

Sam had done so much for Dean, and he felt it was his opportunity to return the favor. 

Dean didn’t have to thwart off Sam’s attempt at a reciprocal hand job off for long however; for after a few moments the older teenager was asleep and it was finally Dean’s chance to spy on Sam as he slept.


	27. You Want Some Breakfast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you all enjoyed your New Year's Eve celebrations! 
> 
> This is just a short chapter. Explains a bit of what happened in the previous chapter and offers a scene that I think you guys have been expecting for a little while :)
> 
> As always:
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!

You know that humming sound you make; the one that accompanies gooey bites of chocolate cake that sticks to the fork, and forces you to press your tongue into the tines in order to get off those last tasteful morsels?

Or when you’re those tart apple cider drinks in the fall that make your mouth hot and dry before the tart apple flavor holds a vibrator to your saliva glands and all the sudden your mouth is dripping with how delicious the flavor is.

You know, _that humming?_

The one that on some primal level means that you’re experiencing tasty, sinful, delicious pleasure that lingers over your senses?

That’s the humming that Sam was doing when he woke up the next morning. 

It was his own self-satisfied vibrating chest that convinced him to open his eyes the next morning. And after a few lazy blinks, Sam finally recognized what he was looking at.

He was flat on his back in Dean’s bed. One arm draped over his stomach; fingers tangled with Dean’s. His other arm circled around Dean, as the younger teen was curled up on his side, head and shoulders tucked up high on Sam’s chest. Dean’s face was pressed into the side of Sam’s neck, and in turn Sam’s nose was pressed into the ticklish hairs atop Dean’s head.

It took him a little longer to realize his head was moving back and forth in small increments; rubbing his nose through Dean’s hair that smelled strongly of almond butter shampoo. 

He could have put an end to the hair-sniffing that he had initiated in his sleep, but instead Sam just smiled and continued. Dean’s hair was always so soft before his efforts to style it. Once it was hardened into shape using gel the hairs never felt right. Sure, the gel didn’t make the tips of his hair into sharp points like some hair gel Sam had seen, but it sure took that angel-blessed softness away from Dean’s hair that Sam liked so much.

He disliked Dean’s hair gel. Much like Dean hated it whenever Sam put his hair in ponytails. Granted Dean had never _said_ that the ponytail bothered him. But Sam would have to have been an idiot to not see the frowns that graced the younger teens face whenever Sam was caught with his hair in one.

Sam took a conscious deep breath of Dean’s hair, and hummed happily on the exhale. 

He was conscious enough to be aware that it was mid-morning. But being a Saturday neither he nor Dean had anywhere to be. And quite frankly Sam wanted to spend whatever time he could that morning cuddling his boyfriend.

He had expected to find a cuddle-fest waiting for him when he got back from his Aunt’s bar. As Dean had been a little pouty when he’d had to leave, and he had received a sad _I miss you_ text from Dean at one point during the night. 

But coming to home to be ambushed with a blowjob?

So not what Sam had expected. 

He had been entirely appreciative of the gesture – there was no doubt about that – but he had still been surprised. 

The last time Dean’s mouth had been anywhere near Sam’s crotch it had been through fabric, and though Sam’s boxers had been on the entire time Dean still had put the tip of Sam’s dick in his mouth.

He knew on some level that sex with Dean was going to be stunted – occurring in levels and stages, and that their relationship would occur in the way that it had. Small steps that moved at Dean’s pace and allowed Dean to make the calls before they took the next step together.

But at the same time Dean seemed to be taking so many big steps all on his own in such a quick time table that Sam often had a hard time believing that Dean had suffered any sexual trauma whatsoever.

Clarification: he _never_ forgot what had happened to Dean. It was just – just that sometimes when Dean would do something like what he had done just the night before Sam had a hard time seeing his sexually confident baby boy being the same one that had blushed when Sam had kissed him for the first time.

He hadn’t found it odd in the slightest that Dean had wanted to be completely hidden under the covers when going down on him. Sure, it had been too dark in the room to see much more than basic body shapes anyways, but Sam could recall multiple times where Dean had discussed a dislike of his body being seen. 

_“I don’t feel comfortable being exposed.”_

That’s what Dean had said. 

_Exposed._

Such a violating word in itself and even more horrifying when coupled with the humiliating, dehumanizing scenario of being a rape victim. One with scars no less.

Because Sam had been more than aware of the fact that Dean had been shirtless – was still shirtless – and that it wouldn’t take much for Sam to see the scars that Dean had worked so hard to cover up. 

Just thinking about it made Sam reach with the one hand that wasn’t entangled with Dean’s fingers to pull the sheets up higher over his baby boy’s chest to make sure he was properly covered. Because though Dean hadn’t been wearing a shirt when Sam had come home last night the last thing he wanted to do was assume that Dean was okay with what Sam would see should he simply glance down with the now abundant sunlight in the room.

Sam had felt the scars during the belly rub he had given Dean, but he still hadn’t seen the scars that caused Dean so much heartache.

But Sam never wanted Dean to feel _exposed._ He never wanted that for his baby boy.

Sam tugged Dean a little closer and pressed a kiss to the baby soft hairs at the hairline on his forehead before pressing his nose back into its original spot and breathing in the almond butter scent. 

Sam hovered on the edge of sleep for nearly another hour. However long it took for Dean to rouse himself awake.

He loved the process Dean went through to wake up. It involved a lot of snuffling and additional cuddling. Dean was rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of Sam’s shoulder and making soft drowsy sounds accompanied by the most adorable half-hearted grumblings.

Sam was able to angle his head far enough away to watch Dean’s lips break out in a frown as his nose twitched in a bunny-like fashion.

Eventually Dean’s movements translated into wakefulness as the snuffling made way for that first big breath of air people take upon waking up.

Eyes still closed Dean untangled one of his hands from Sam’s to scratch at his nose before settling back down with a contented sigh.

Sam couldn’t stop the soft chuckle that rumbled through his chest and prompted Dean to open his eyes.

“Wha-?” Dean asked, clearly still waking up.

“Mm, jus you,” Sam responded, turning his face to nose at the younger teens forehead. “Being ‘dorable.”

Dean adjusted his body to lie closer to – though Sam didn’t think it was possible – Sam’s body.

And Sam wrapped his arms around him a little tighter.

Their legs were still entangled, and Dean reminded Sam of this fact by rubbing one of his feet along the length of Sam’s right calf.

It was so sweetly familiar of the two of them in that moment. That they could simply _be_ on Dean’s bed together and have it be one of the most joyful situations of Sam’s day.

Eventually though Dean roused a bit more under the sheets, and tugged away towards the bathroom muttering “bathroom” as he reached the edge.

“Wait!” Sam cried, making Dean freeze as Sam exited the bed on his side and retrieved his shirt off of the floor from last night. “Put my shirt on,” Sam explained tossing the garment over.

Dean grabbed the shirt and felt at the material and held it to his chest over the covers. 

The moment felt significant as Dean refused to dress and instead motioned towards his end table where his tablet was placed.

Sam retrieved the gadget as Dean sat up – covers held carefully over his chest.

Dean typed a message out with one hand as Sam sat down on his side of the bed. He hit the speak command and was sure to hold Sam’s eye with each spoken word. 

_“I told you before Sam, it’s okay. I’m ready to show you. I trust you.”_

Sam nodded – just barely – and looked down before meeting Dean’s eyes again.

“You sure?”

Dean smiled a bit as he typed out a response.

_“Of you? Always.”_

Sam nodded and reached out to grab the hand Dean had been typing with.

“As long as you’re sure,” Sam reiterated, “ready when you are.”

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and the two boys rearranged themselves on the bed to sit cross-legged from one another. Then, without another word, Dean lowered the sheet.

Sam had an idea what to expect. they were scars, so common sense says that they’ll be a pinkish-white color. Dean’s explanation told him the shape; a pentagram. He’d seen those before, so knew that it likely looked like. He even knew the basic layout, he had seen the bottom point that first time with Dean when he rucked Dean’s shirt up to expose the pink scars around his belly button. He’s even felt the scars. Aware of the raised edges that marred Dean’s soft skin.

But he wasn’t really ready to see all of it together.

It was kind of like seeing an unexpected tattoo on someone, coupled with that icy shock that trickles through your veins when you’re afraid.

A pentagram has five points. The longest point on the pentagram decorating Dean’s chest ended a few inches below his belly button, the two side points stretched across the bottom of Dean’s ribcage, and the final two points were higher up on his chest, ending just above each of his nipples. 

It was ghostly looking.

Dean had undoubtedly put some kind of medicated cream over the scars to bring them to their current shade – which was just a tad bit lighter than Dean’s skin tone; not the angry pink that he had expected.

Sam actually kind of wondered if he’d even be able to see the scars if he stood on the other side of the room.

The thin lines which weren’t too menacing looking widened out to about the width of Sam’s pinky in the scars above Dean’s right nipple and the point across his right ribs. 

He remembered Dean mentioning an infection and wondered if it was the cause for the ganglier looking scars on that side. 

All told the physical aspect of the scars wasn’t daunting. It was more about the significance that they held. Proof that Dean had been held against his will and tortured. Marked. Abused. That someone had hurt the person Sam had come to care about the most.

Sam realized after a moment that he was staring, but he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of reaction Dean was expecting. 

Sam wanted to tell Dean of how nice the scars looked – not in a way one would compliment another person on a new tattoo. But in a reassuring way that said that Dean’s perspective of the scars weren’t accurate. Then again he didn’t want to try and dissuade Dean’s perception of himself. He didn’t want to belittle the scars’ existence, because they were unfortunately too significant to ignore. 

He also didn’t want to flat out agree with Dean’s assessment of them. He didn’t want to encourage Dean into thinking that how he perceived himself to others was completely true, as he was often too harsh on himself. 

So Sam just did what felt natural. He wound his hands under Dean’s arms and pulled him in close, tucking his head under Sam’s chin. Sam just didn’t know how to deal with Dean’s insecurities; he wasn’t an expert. 

He wasn’t even sure if hugging Dean was an appropriate response for what had just happened, and he didn’t get any indication if Dean was okay with it until he felt Dean’s arms come around him.

Sam kind of wanted to say something. Something to go along with the significance of the moment. But he just couldn’t bring himself to accidentally ruin the moment.

So he held Dean for a period of time before kissing Dean on his temple as he pulled away.

He moved his hands to Dean’s own hands and gave them a light squeeze before clearing his throat. 

“You want some breakfast?” 

Dean pulled away and snorted.

“What?” Sam asked with innocent eyes, “aren’t you hungry?”

Dean couldn’t help but smirk and pull away from the bed. 

“What!” Sam asked again.

Dean plucked his tablet and tapped out a reply before tossing it on the bed after hitting the speak command, and walked out of the room as it spoke for him. 

_“We were having a nice moment there Sam. Then you had to go and ruin it. You’re gay, doesn’t that mean you’re supposed to be sensitive?”_

Sam chuckled. Even through the voice command he could tell there wasn’t any heat in what Dean was saying.

“I’m gay!” Sam shouted out towards the bathroom where Dean had walked off to, “not a girl!”


	28. I Got Sammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy's first day of school

Dean thunked his head against the wall and fought to keep his breaths even. He popped his mouth open and closed his eyes; he sucked down a few gulps of air before he was forced to bite his lip to keep his whimpers back. 

His hands clenched in the soft texture he had buried them in and felt his bare toes clenching where he stood. He had just calmed his racing heart down to a steady beat when a loud knock sounded at the door. 

“Dean? You still in there?”

Dean whipped his head toward the bathroom door and felt his heart pounding against his chest once again. His mom was at the bathroom door. 

“Dean?”

Dean swallowed, before looking down at Sam. 

His boyfriend was on his knees in front of him, making direct eye contact as he bobbed his mouth, lips wrapped around Dean’s hard cock. It was hard to tell with Dean’s wide girth stretching the older teen’s lips, but Sam was definitely smiling up at him.

“Dean!” his mom was knocking at the door harder now. 

Sam removed one of his hands from Dean’s hip to knock on the wall behind where Dean was standing, and replaced it back on his hip – all without stopping the movement of his mouth. 

“Okay sweetheart, but hurry up in there, I think Sam’s already headed home to finish getting ready.”

He heard Sam snort in amusement at that.

“Love you honey, have a good day.”

Dean spared about two seconds of thought to his mom walking away before focusing on what Sam was doing. 

Dean had been in the bathroom, stripping down to take a shower when Sam weaseled his way into the room and all but attacked him, yanking down his boxers and sucking Dean’s flaccid dick into his mouth to suck and slurp at the tip until it started filling out. 

Then Sam pressed his face forward until his nose pressed into Dean’s lower belly, and then alternated in the depth and speed of his bobbing. 

Sam didn’t have to say it; Dean knew what his boyfriend was doing. 

Dean was terrified at the prospect of going to school today. There was going to be a lot of people there today. A lot of people would be looking at him. Asking him questions. Inquiring his name…staring. Judging. 

The thought of being without Sam had Dean stressing out. He’d been with Sam for a month. He couldn’t fathom the idea of being without him for a few hours, and he didn’t care about how pathetic that made him sound. 

He felt his breath pick up as he pondered the thought of heading into the high school in less than an hour and decided to just focus on his boyfriend’s blowjob. Sam was doing a pretty spectacular job after all. 

The feeling of something warm and wet creating delicious friction on his dick was making him feel paradoxical; the physical sensation was heavy with arousal, and yet the mental comfort it provided him left him feeling emotionally light. 

Dean’s hips made aborted thrusts into Sam’s hands and the older boy laughed – mouth full of Dean’s dick. 

It was too early in the morning for Dean to have his head fully wrapped around the idea of orgasm control, and his Mom was right, he did have to get a move on if he wanted to get to school on time. So he let his eyes shut and gave in to the whimpered breathing that he had been fighting off. Something about holding in those little breaths of air always took something away from his arousal, and when he allowed those moans and whimpers to fall out it actually helped his orgasm to pick up speed faster.

So after five minutes – more or less – Sam was swallowing down wave after wave of Dean’s orgasm. He heard his boyfriend’s own wet groans and recognized the blurry movements of Sam’s arm as he jacked off and his own release painted across the bathroom tile. 

Sam stood up and caught his mouth in a quick, wet kiss. The lingering taste of _Sam_ and _Dean_ mixed together in their mouths before Sam pulled away and looked down at the floor between Dean’s feet. 

“Clean that up,” he croaked out as his throat worked to clear up before he walked out of the bathroom leaving Dean against the wall. 

Dean thunked his head back to the wall and smiled before looking back down and taking a step forward to retrieve the bathroom cleaner from the cabinet to clean up the come that Sam had left behind.

 

*****

They were on the threshold of the first day of school. No, seriously, Dean was holding Sam’s hand as they walked into the high school. They were surrounded by other students which caused Dean to keep his head down though it was more out of habit than anything, as Sam had proved to him more than once that being openly gay in public wasn’t going to lead to the spiteful glances and pitchforks that Dean was always prepared for. 

It was strange though, because while the hand he had curled around Sam’s was also his source of confidence and was the main reason he felt uncomfortable walking through the doors Sam was leading him to. 

Sam wasn’t speaking at they walked through the halls, and it wasn’t until he felt Sam stop that Dean actually looked up. 

They were in the cafeteria, standing before a round table that was full with people who were vaguely familiar to him.

“Hey guys!” Sam said by way of greeting, “you remember Dean right?” Sam said using the hand wrapped around Dean’s to pull him forward.

“Yeah!”  
“Hey Dean.”  
“How’s it going?”

Sam’s friends all sounded genuinely excited to see him. He’d met a few of them before at the first cross country get together – Jess, Charlie and Garth. The others he had heard Sam talking to on the phone and had seen pictures of them on Facebook before, those were Madison, Trent, Madison’s girlfriend – Brooke – and Chad. 

Dean didn’t have it in him to feel awkward at meeting Trent, he knew that he and Sam were just friends and that he needn’t worry about the other boy.

Sam was his.

Logically Dean knew that the fear of persecution and being ostracized from Sam’s friends for being gay was unfounded; as Sam and most of his friends all had ‘crooked’ orientations. He had also often heard Sam’s Uncle call their home the town’s unofficial LGBT haven. However, even in the group where people were the most like him Dean was still different.

Sam’s friends were a talkative and lively bunch – c’mon _teenagers_ – and their boisterous laughter, while warm and inviting, made Dean all too aware of the fact that his eyes hadn’t left the ground since he had walked over, or that his laughter consisted of involuntary breaths of air forced through his nose, _or_ the fact that his palm was so sweaty it was if he had dunked his hole hand in a tub of lube and that he and Sam were readjusting their connected hands every few seconds.

Dean was so cut off from the group that he hadn’t realized that Sam had said a blanket goodbye for the two of them until Sam’s hand was being used to tug him away. He glanced up at Sam’s face and saw his boyfriend looking forward, a small smile quirking his lips. Sam squeezed Dean’s hand briefly, a quiet show of support for him as Dean turned his head back down to avoid the looks of other students who wandered the halls. 

He hadn’t a clue where they were going and he only had a few methods with which he could ask Sam. One was his eyes, though he was terrified to look up – and the other was his tablet, though he was loathe to take the device out unless he _needed_ to. 

And so Dean – curious as to their destination – followed after Sam, confident that his boyfriend wouldn’t lead him into harm. 

It became obvious after a few hallways that Sam was leading them to a particular classroom – Dean’s first period, he guessed.

Sam turned once more down an empty hallway – as it was much too early for students to be going to classes – and Sam finally broke the silence.

“Figured I’d take you to your first hour and introduce you to your teacher, Mr. Riley.” Sam bent down to press a quick kiss to Dean’s temple. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Dean wet his lips with his tongue before croaking out a “thanks.”

Sam smiled and pulled the two of them into an empty classroom.

“This is your Math class,” Sam narrated as he led Dean to the front of the room to the teacher’s desk. “Mr. Riley should be here soon, then I can introduce you guys.”

Sam sat down in one desk and Dean dropped down in the one beside him. His backpack was still on, which pushed him forward on the seat. He hunched over and clasped his hands between his knees. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” Sam asked, rubbing a wide hand over Dean’s shoulder.

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head to the desk. 

“No,” he groaned.

“You want me to get you to Mrs. Baxter? She said you could stop by anytime.”

Dean shuifted and pulled his tablet out of his front pocket in his hoodie – warm weather or not, Dean wanted to feel comfortable, and that meant wearing clothes he could hide in. He laid the tablet onto the desk and typed out a response without lifting his head from the desk. 

The feat for a sudden onslaught of nausea was a real one.

_“I can’t hide from the first day of school Sam. I have to do this. I just really don’t want to.”_

Sam hummed thoughtfully as he let Dean’s words settle. “You don’t have to hide, but we can take it in small steps. If you want to spend the rest of the day with me or the psychologist you just say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Dean wasn’t looking at Sam when he spoke, but he could hear the sincerity that was surely showing in his eyes.

He didn’t have a response, and was saved the trouble of coming up with one by the entrance of a man into the room.

“Oh, hello,” the shocked voice greeted them. 

Dean looked up marginally to see a young-ish man enter the room. Dressed in khaki pants and a tucked in checkered shirt Dean immediately recognized the man as his Math teacher, Mr. Riley.

“Sam,” the man said a little confused, “you aren’t in my sophomore algebra class, are you?”

Sam chuckled, “sadly no, I’m in Calc one,” he spoke as he stood up and put himself between Dean and the other man. “I’m here with Dean, my boyfriend. He’s in your first hour.”

Mr. Riley’s eyes shifted to Dean in the desk, and Dean saw the – almost undetectable – glimmer of understanding pass through the man’s eyes. 

He was good. 

In an instant Dean could see the man realize who Dean was, and Dean wasn’t stupid enough to believe that all of the teachers who had Dean’s name on the roster hadn’t undergone some type of meeting with the Sped. teacher and psychologist to gain an understanding for who exactly Dean was.

“It’s very nice to meet you Dean,” the man said – not taking any steps closer to him or offering his hand, “how are you this morning?”

It was said so coolly and casually as the man shifted through papers on his desk, and Dean had to give the guy props on how he handled talking to him. Most people seemed pretty hit or miss dealing with situations of the unknown. 

Since Dean’s tablet was already out he figured he’d use it.

_“Okay, kinda nervous.”_

Mr. Riley laughed softly as he pulled out a piece of paper and started writing on the board, basic introductory information for the class and a ‘get to know you’ activity that the man had planned. 

“Nothing to be nervous about Dean,” the man said with his back turned. “I’m not going to go any faster in the course than necessary, and I’m always here to ask questions.”

Dean wasn’t sure if the man was purposefully playing naïve to the fact that Dean was nervous about school, or if he truly thought that Dean was expressing a nervousness about his Math class. Either way it worked to put Dean at ease.

 _“Yeah, not much of a Math fan.”_ Dean admitted since it came up.

Mr. Riley snorted, and turned – dry erase marker in hand – “No one is a fan of Math. It’s hard and it sucks. So long as you don’t _hate_ it, then we’re good.”

Dean smiled and looked down to his tablet – already kind of zoning out on the fact that Sam was standing beside his shoulder. 

Mr. Riley wrote a few more things out on the board and then came over to where Dean was sitting, but he stayed a few desks away. 

“So I have an introductory activity planned,” Mr. Riley began. “Usually I play a game called ‘Two Truths and a Lie’, you heard of it?”

Dean nodded. 

“Is that something that you’d feel comfortable doing?”

Dean bit his lip and fingered the edge of his tablet. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The game would combine a few things that Dean wasn’t sure he liked. First, would be the simple fact that Dean would have the attention of his classmates called upon him. Then, would be that he spoke with a _device_ as opposed to his own voice. He’d then have to reveal information about himself, and what could he possibly say? After that people would be contemplating facts about Dean’s life, actively thinking about him. And he just – he couldn’t. He couldn’t do all of that. Not within the first hour of the first day.

He vigorously shook his head. 

“That’s okay,” Mr. Riley said quietly, “I want you to be honest with me Dean. I want you to enjoy coming into my classroom every day. So if there is ever anything that you don’t feel comfortable with then I encourage you to let me know.”

He stood up and went to the board and erased the get to know you activity off the list on the board. 

“Is there anything that you would be comfortable with today?”

He wasn’t sure about that one, but figured he had to try and do something in order to compromise on the situation. 

He typed out his response. 

_“I can tell people my name.”_ Because that was honestly all he figured he could do.

Mr. Riley nodded. “That works just fine.”

Dean nodded and went back to staring at the top of the desk, pulling at the collar of his hoodie. When did it get so hot in here?

Sam kneeled on the ground beside Dean’s desk and held one of his hands. “Class starts in five minutes. Are you going to be okay, or do you need me to stick around?”

His heart was pounding, he was sweating something fierce. His breakfast was threatening to make a reappearance. His legs felt like they weren’t strong enough to lift the weight of a feather. And black edges were creeping in on his vision. 

He told Sam to go. 

Sam hadn’t looked too convinced at Dean’s barely discernible “go,” but didn’t say anything. He only stood up, pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and listened to his boyfriend’s wishes. 

Sam left and a few seconds after ducking through the door a handful of students walked in.

They were loud. Chatting freely with one another about the start of the school year, insignificant snippets of conversation that amounted to a disbelief at the school year starting, and a general upset at no longer being able to sleep in and watch endless episodes of sixteen and pregnant or south park. 

Dean sighed and tried to make himself smaller on the desk.

In reality he knew hat the new comers weren’t paying any attention to him, too consumed with talking to their friends before their attention was stolen away by the teacher. But in Dean’s mind the students were staring at the back of his head, asking questions in their own minds as to what was wrong with the weird quiet kid at the front of the class. The one who wore too many layers of clothes for the warm day outside. The one who ran a hand over his sweaty forehead every minute to wipe away the beads that had collected. The one whose heart was pounding so rapidly and with such force that the beats were noticeable on his chest through the gap in the collar on his hoodie. The one who started swallowing that thick, viscous spit that flooded one’s mouth when they were preparing to throw up.

Mr. Riley started talking at the front of the room, and it was only then that Dean realized that the bell had rung. 

He had just assumed that the ringing he had heard was in his head.

Now though, he could tell that the class had started.

Mr. Riley walked up and down the aisles of desks – talking as he handed out some papers – though Dean wasn’t paying attention to anything being said. He was too busy trying to control the sweat pouring down his face while schooling his breathing into something that didn’t make him sound like an asthmatic smoker.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Mr. Riley was taking attendance, calling out names and asking people to make a short statement about themselves. His name was Campbell, he was at the top of the class list.

At the realization that he’d have to type out something on his tablet for his classmates to hear he felt the black edges to his vision expand, and the sounds of the classroom seemed to come to him from through muffled cotton ear plugs.

“Dean?”

Dean looked up to Mr. Riley who had turned his attention toward him, directing a class full of eyes in his direction.

“Dean?” Mr. Riley asked again. And it sounded like he was being spoken to trough a barrier of water. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Dean shook his head. No. _Hell_ no. 

Mr. Riley moved down the line, not focusing much attention on Dean’s refusal to participate, but that didn’t stop a few of the students from whispering things about him to one another. 

Or at least he imagined so.

His heart still pounding furiously, sweating pouring down his face, and feeling like he was seconds away from throwing up he pulled out his phone and texted Sam.

_Need u_

Was all he was able to get out before a sudden wave of weakness made him drop his phone on the desks’ surface with a loud clatter.

He focused on breathing and only a minutes passed before the door to the classroom opened quietly.

Sam made a beeline for him, tucking a hand under his arm and gripping hard enough to get him to move up and out of his chair despite the fact that Dean felt too heavy to move.

Sam got him up and clear of the maze of desks with supportive touches, and whispered phrases of “come on. I got ya.”

They paused long enough for Sam to nab the forgotten tablet on the desk before Dean was being pushed against the wall in the empty hallway, and forced to sit down with his head between his knees. 

“Breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay, doing good baby. Doing so good.”

Dean could feel Sam rubbing his back and shoulders, running a hand through his sweaty hair and squeezing the back of his neck in a way to get him to calm down. 

It wasn’t until Dean felt himself blinking that he realized his vision had narrowed to black. He hadn’t a clue why.

“C’mon Dean, slow your breathing,” he heard Sam coach, and then he noticed the fact that his panic was going to make him hyperventilate.

“How is he?” He heard someone – Mr. Riley – ask.

“He’s breathing too fast,” Sam answered.

He was making a scene. He was drawing attention. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t be alone. Couldn’t handle the attention, just – just couldn’t – 

He looked up and caught a glimpse of Sam’s face before he allowed the strained rubber band that was his control snap. His eyes rolled back in his head and he blissfully, thankfully, blacked out.

*****

Dean had been sure that he had managed to hang on through a majority of his first class. Hell, at least half of the class had passed, surely it had.

But upon waking up in the nurse’s office on a cot with Sam’s arm wrapped around him he learned that he hadn’t made it seven minutes without Sam. 

_Seven minutes._

He felt his face flush red as the nurse stepped over to offer an orange flavored drink, it was like orange juice, but had a more intense flavor to it.

“How are you feeling honey?” the nurse asked as Sam held the bottle that Dean was taking small sips from. 

Dean shook his head. He just wanted to curl into a small enough size so that Sam could carry him around for the rest of the day and keep him safe.

“Dean, do you want me to go get Mrs. Baxter?”

Dean kept his eyes closed and leaned back onto Sam’s shoulder, and gave the nurse a small nod. The school day had barely started, and he was throwing in the towel. He listened to the nurse’s footsteps fade away, and he turned his nose toward Sam’s chest to smell his boyfriend’s comforting scent. 

Sam wrapped his free arm around Dean and coaxed him into taking another sip. 

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

And Dean was too tired to remember that he had a problem speaking.

“Tired.”

“Feel like you’re going to throw up?”

“A little.”

“You want me to grab a bucket?”

“Wan you t’stay,” Dean grumbled pressing himself closer to Sam. He felt like he’d been doing cardio for the last hour and that his muscles were too unreliable to be capable of doing anything at that point in time. 

He felt soft lips on his forehead.

“I can stay.”

A few minutes later and two pairs of shoes were walking toward their little cot. 

“Hey Dean, how are you doing?” the new soft voice – Mrs. Baxter – asked. “Heard you blacked out earlier.”

“M’tired,” Dean whined again – and, wow, talking in front of a lot of people there Dean.

“What else?” the voice prompted.

“Scared.”

“You’re feeling scared? Why are you feeling scared Dean? What’s scary?”

No, no. The voice wasn’t listening, he wasn’t _currently_ scared.

“Was scared, in class. Too – too many – .”

“Too many what?” the voice was soft, mirroring the volume of his own.

“People. Too many.”

“Are you scared now Dean?”

“Mmm, no,” he felt so tired, so blissfully lethargic.

“Why is that Dean?”

“Mmm, I go – got Sammy.”

He heard the voice trying to get him to speak again, but he didn’t have the energy to respond back. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t awake enough to tell anyone anything different.

He felt Sam lower him onto the cot, and – no longer cozied up to Sam’s chest – he whined.

He heard Sam’s chuckle, and a soft hand run through his hair once more before he let go and allowed himself to fall asleep.


	29. Sam's Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam sits down to talk to the school psychologist

Sam leaned forward and rubbed at the tense muscles he found in the back of his neck. It had been a rough first week to say the least – and it was only Wednesday.

Monday had been their first day, which began with the spectacular fallout that was Dean’s first class period without Sam. He could still remember that startling mental _drop_ he felt when he had received that text from Dean. 

His teacher hadn’t even made it through her own introductions…

He didn’t even check the message, just leaped from his chair and bolted to Dean’s classroom. If Dean was texting him that soon then it was obvious that things were bad.

When he pushed through the door to Mr. Riley’s room and saw the slumped shaky form that was Dean he knew he had made the right decision.

He did the first thing he had been taught to do by both Dr. Schmidt and Mrs. Baxter when they had discussed Dean’s anticipated panic attacks – removed him from the situation.

Sam had succeeded in getting Dean to the hall – but not much else. He had been attempting to get Dean to calm down and slow his breathing, but it was as if the younger teen couldn’t hear him and the directions he was giving. Pretty soon Dean’s eyes had rolled into the back of his head and had passed out.

Sam had never felt more useless than he did when carrying Dean to the nurse’s office.

He had been in front of Dean – right in front of him – and he had done nothing to ease Dean’s panic. Nothing.

Later on when Dean came to while Sam cuddled him close Dean grumbled something that sounded like “how long?” and after a moments consideration he knew what the younger teen was asking. 

He checked his phone – reading the text for the first time – and quickly calculated “seven minutes.”

Dean seemed depressed by that fact.

Hell, they had all been shocked at Dean’s reaction. Everyone had gone into the first day of school with the naïve belief that he was going to be mostly okay on his own – perhaps a little shaken up – but okay. When Dean had caught on to everyone’s shock though, he had interpreted it as disappointment.

Mrs. Baxter – in a professional manner that still shocked Sam – had Dean from inconsolable to stoic in under a minute, by apologizing and taking the blame for the situation. Stating that she had everyone convinced Dean was better off that he actually was. That it was her fault everyone seemed so shocked, and that she was sorry for not paying better attention to him.

Sam knew it was all just a de-escalation technique, Dean _should_ have been okay for the first day of school. 

That first day ended with Mrs. Baxter calling Mary to take Dean to Dr. Schmidt to get a prescription for anti-anxiety medication, and left Sam alone for the rest of the day. 

It wasn’t until the English class that he and Dean were supposed to share that Sam realized something, that he needed Dean just as much too.

He had never driven home so quick at the end of the school day.

The next day Dean was – not permitted – but required to stay home as Mrs. Short, Mrs. Baxter and Dr. Schmidt all collaborated on what their next move with Dean would be. It had been a rough school day for Sam, as he could only picture Dean as he had left him; laying dejectedly in the middle of his bed as Sam kissed him goodbye.

The two had traded texts of course, and Dean was helpful in assuring Sam that he was okay – he had even worked up the courage to wander over to Sam’s house unannounced to catch Wheel of Fortune before with his Aunt before she had to leave for work, and when Dean hadn’t elaborated on that particular fact Sam schooled himself to not make it seem like the huge deal it really was – but Sam was still worried. It was in his nature to.

The consensus that had been worked out was this – Dean was put back on his anti-anxiety medication, all of his classes would be through Mrs. Short –minus the English class he had with Sam, as everyone agreed that Dean needed any social interactions that he could get – and Dean would meet with Mrs. Baxter each afternoon. They planned on reevaluating Dean’s psychological state and anxiety levels before attempting to reintegrate in into the general education classrooms after a few weeks of the new set-up. 

It was the best solution that they could come up with.

“Well Sam?”

Sam released his hand from the back of his neck and sat up in his chair so that he could properly address Mrs. Baxter.

“M’sorry,” he murmured rubbing his hand over his face, as if he could physically remove the signs of stress and tension from his face. “What did you ask?”

The woman before him offered up a small smile, “I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Well, I mean Dean has -- .”

“No Sam. This conversation isn’t about Dean. Not yet,” she chided him softly. “I asked how _you_ were doing.”

Sam dropped his head and swallowed unsure. He didn’t know what he was feeling honestly. He was always so focused on Dean’s well-being. 

“I’m not sure.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Why?” he snorted, “I haven’t had time to think about myself. When I’m awake I’m always focused on Dean and his needs. What he’s feeling and what we’re doing and – and I just,” he took a deep breath and ran fingers through his hair, he knew he was messing his hair up to an extreme level, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

“I’m stressed,” he admitted, throwing his hands up and keeping his eyes averted. ‘I’m totally over my head with Dean. I care about him – I love him a lot. And I mean love, I’m not just saying that as some hormonal teenager either,” he said defensively to the carpet between his feet. “I’m _afraid_ of my feelings for him because it makes me feel so vulnerable, and like someone could run away with the best parts of me and my emotions. And I could be left so freaking hurt for the rest of my life if I’m not careful about things.

And he’s so fragile all the time – not that I would _ever_ say that to Dean, he-he’s so macho about that,” Sam chuckled, but felt the minuscule smile that appeared on his face as he thought of Dean’s quirky personality shift into another frown. “But, I’m always worried that I’m going to do or say something that is going to chase him away forever. I’ve already made one mistake with Dean that almost cost him his life. Do you know how terrifying that is?” he was still addressing the carpet, and he cleared his throat when he felt it closing up. 

“To know that I have to be so _careful_ with him that if I take a misstep in our relationship that it has the possibility to end – not with a breakup! – but with Dean actually committing suicide?”

He looked up to Mrs. Baxter at that, and hadn’t realized he was crying until he felt a hot tear escape and fall down his cheek. He pawed at his face with both hands, wiping and drying his tears until his whole fact felt tight and itchy.

“So you’re worried about messing up?”

“Worried?” he croaked, “I was worried the first time I kissed him, what I feel now can’t be described with the word worried.”

“But that is your primary fear, yes? That you’re going to do something that jeopardized your relationship and Dean’s life?”

Sam nodded his head.

“Well, the thing is Sam, I think everyone who has ever been in a relationship with someone that they care about has had the fear that their relationship has the potential to end. Humans are social creatures, we aren’t meant to be alone. But I don’t think your fear comes from any of the regular sources. You’re worried that your lack of clinical knowledge about Dean’s mental condition will lead you to make a mistake. Am I right?”

He used the back of his hand to wipe away a few lingering tears and looked up at the woman once more. Mrs. Baxter was so motherly, and everything about her – from her clothes to her hair and even the tone of her voice – spoke to a woman who was hand designed to readily offer up comfort.

“I –,” he licked his lips, “I’m scared I’m not doing the right things for him,” he admitted softly.

Mrs. Baxter leaned across her desk and offered Sam her hand.

He took it. It was comforting, soft, and warm.

“But Sam, if you love him like you do, how can you do wrong?”

That statement resonated with Sam, and was something he would have to remind himself of in the future as a kind of pep-talk.

*****

It seemed like no time had passed before Sam felt comfortable enough to bring up the one topic that he never thought he would ever discuss out loud; his and Dean’s sex life.

“I am concerned about one thing though – well, I mean, it’s more than one thing. Kind of. Well… it’s like a variety of things, uh. I dunno.”

Mrs. Baxter watched on as he rambled, and her face showed obvious amusement. It was likely she knew what Sam was going to ask before he had finally worked up the courage to say it.

“I was wondering,” Sam was just going to be blunt, “if we could talk about the physical relationship Dean and I share.” He spoke slowly and clearly so that he didn’t have to worry about repeating himself.

“Okay. What aspect do you want to talk about first?” She was so calm and professional about the whole thing that Sam couldn’t help but feel comfortable talking about it.

“I have a few questions, but I guess I would have to start off with the biggest one. I’m obviously eighteen, and Dean is sixteen – and I’m just worried that because of his age that I’m going to have to worry about statutory rape laws.”

She ‘hmmed’ and considered him very closely. “You’re very wise to be concerned about that Sam. Not many teenagers your age realize that the relationships they have could lead them towards a lawsuit in criminal court.”

Sam turned his palms up in an honest gesture, “I’m just trying to protect Dean.”

“Well, I guess we can start with the law itself. What do you know about statutory rape?”

“Not much.”

“Well,” she took a breath and relaxed back in her chair, “the law varies from state to state. But it’s basically meant to protect minors – who the state believes to not be old enough to give consent – against adults from having quote-unquote ‘consensual’ sex with one another. And despite the fact that it’s meant to prevent against adults a lot of teenagers get caught in the cross-fire.”

“So this is something that I should be worried about.”

“Yes and no. It’s a law, so technically yes – any penetrative sex between you and Dean is grounds for a statutory rape charge.”

His ears pinked even though they hadn’t had penetrative sex; perhaps would never have penetrative sex. “Dean and I haven’t – uhm – haven’t, ah, got. Got that far yet.”

“And most statutory rape laws only consider penetrative sex to be statutory rape – some states include any intimate physical contact to be statutory rape.”

“Any physical contact?”

She laughed softly, “we’re not in one of those states Sam. So kissing and all that stuff is okay.”

Sam nodded and rubbed his palms together as he worked through his thoughts. “I – I’d like to talk to you about my and Dean’s physical relationship, like, what we’ve done. But, uh, wou-would you, like – ,” he broke off and scratched the back of his neck.

“Sam, I am only legally required to report any forms of abuse that I am made aware of. And I can tell you right now that even if you told me that the two of you _’got that far’_ I wouldn’t report you.”

“But – I thought – why?”

“Statutory rape laws have a lot of red tape. It involves the ages of both parties, the age difference in months between both parties, how close the younger party is to eighteen, the nature of the physical encounter in question. And so on,” she waved her hand for emphasis. “In your case Dean isn’t more than thirty-six months your junior and is less than two years away from being eighteen himself. So legally this wouldn’t be a matter that I’d have to turn in.”

“Oh.”

“Also, it’s a judgment call. Rape cases of any kind are extraordinarily sensitive, but there is no point sending two horny boys to court just because they like to get a little handsy now and then.”

“Okay.”

“But, keep in mind that most statutory rape cases are filed by disgruntled parents who are upset, or unaware of the nature of their children’s relationships.” She cleared her throat, “if you’re truly concerned about this consider talking to your Aunt and Uncle as well as Dean’s parents about the nature of your relationship. Sitting them down, being honest and showing your guardians how responsible you can be with the situation will go a long way in preventing angry parents from filing any cases.” She shrugged, “it also has the added benefit of strengthening relationships all around. There would be no more need for sneaking or manipulating. It would create an aura of good feelings all around.” 

She locked eyes with him and smiled, “it sounds awkward as hell, I know. But being honest and showing how mature you and Dean can be about it will be very beneficial.”

Sam nodded his head – he was going to ignore how uncomfortable that idea made him in favor of understanding how much sense it made. 

His head had dropped as he listened and thought through what she was saying, and glanced up through his hair at her. 

“Was that all you wanted to talk about Sam?”

“No. I was wondering what kind of advice you could give me. I mean – ,” Sam took a deep breath and shoved his discomfort aside – this conversation was for Dean, _forDeanforDeanforDean_ – “we’ve already done a few things. We’ve reciprocated a few things,” _ahem_ , “but Dean still has some discomfort about his body, I was just wondering what I could d to make Dean feel better about everything.”

“Does Dean’s discomfort stem from being in a sexual situation?”

“No. It’s the fact that we’re sometimes, uh,” a furious blush broke out over his face, “not wearing clothes when we do things.”

“Well, if that’s the case Sam then I think what you should do is to just keep Dean comfortable. If he’s comfortable enough to take clothes off around you then it’s something that Dean himself has to do. So long as you continue to create a relationship that supports and comforts Dean I think you’ll be okay.”

Sam felt himself deflate a little bit, “so just keep doing what I’m doing?”

“I know what you’re thinking Sam, you feel like what you’re doing isn’t enough. You need to do more. You have to be more involved. But remember, Dean has PTSD – not the flu. There’s only so much you can do before your efforts begin to have a negative effect on Dean. PTSD is something that requires support from friends and family – nothing more or less. This is something that Dean needs to do on his own. You just need to stay on the sidelines and cheer him on.”

“I just feel like there’s more that I could do.”

“You mean for your physical relationship?”

“No. Well – yes. Well, I mean,” he rubbed at his nose in irritation and gave himself a moment to think. “I want to do both, but I want to make sure that our physical relationship is never – lacking. I’m the first person Dean has ever done anything with and with the – nature – of his past I don’t want to turn Dean off to the idea of sex. When we started dating, Dean already had self-image issues. And the fear that society would rain down pitchforks and bigots down upon his head just for holding hands with me in public – and for good reason. I just want to make sure that if Dean gets anything out of this relationship it’s the knowledge that he can feel safe in a sexual relationship.”

He looked up at Mrs. Baxter. The woman had a hand in front of her mouth which was poorly hiding the coy smile she displayed. Sam got the feeling that she knew something she wasn’t telling him. She had been looking down at the desk top, but glanced up when she realized Sam had stopped talking. She straightened and cleared her throat a little – kind of what a person does after they had been laughing – and glanced at the clock before locking eyes with him.

“You know what I think Sam?”

“What?”

“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Sam was prepared to respond back, but the bell sounded, signaling the end of the school day. His seventh period was a study hall, which allowed him to meet with Mrs. Baxter without missing any classes.

“I guess I’ll talk to you next week,” Sam said standing up and grabbing his backpack.

“Next week,” she confirmed.

Sam sent her a quick wave before darting through her office door. He wanted to race down the hall to Mrs. Short’s classroom to find Dean and ask all about his first day. 

And as he pushed through the students he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be about double this length, but I'm having a lot of difficulties with the second half. It's requiring a lot of tweaking and careful writing on my part. So I apologize for the long wait, as this section has been done for weeks, but I wanted it attached to a longer piece. The nature of the second part is delicate, I'm introducing a new character and they have - quirks, about them. I use that term loosely, but I want to do my best to not offend anyone and to represent this character as best as I can. 
> 
> So what did ya'll think?


	30. Shall I Compare Thee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, introducing a new character and he (yes, it's a he!) makes me kind of nervous. Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> Also, this chapter goes back in time to the beginning of Dean's school day.
> 
> Read. Review. Enjoy!

Dean was in a portable, protective – _amazing smelling_ – cocoon. He was also alone.

Well, not technically, but Sam wasn’t there, so he saw little difference. There were other people in the room, but they weren’t Sam, so he paid them no attention.

He buried his nose in the collar of Sam’s hoodie that he had stolen and wrapped his fingers in the loose cuff material of the sleeves, and hugged himself close. Sammy was so much bigger than him, especially in the arms and shoulders. It meant that Dean looked like a child in the other teens clothing – which hid his body pretty well, but more importantly the item of clothing smelled, _felt_ like Sam. So if Dean held himself tight and closed his eyes it almost felt like – 

“Hi.”

Dean jerked and opened his eyes. Another boy was sitting at the table with Dean. He had been in Mrs. Short’s room before Dean, so he had shied away from the other boy on principal. It wasn’t that the other boy was particularly intimidating – he had soft fluffy black hair and wildly expressive blue eyes he was like an adorable kitten compared to his wolfish nightmares.

No, Dean was only avoiding him simply due to the childish notion that he believed, that if he ignored every other person long enough that Sam would have no choice but to come back to him.

This boy across from him however had _not_ read the memo and was placing a tablet onto the table that resembled his own.

In an attempt to make himself less approachable Dean pulled his hood up and rested his chin on his crossed arms. Now only his eyes and forehead were visible to the outside world.

He watched the boy before him with rapt fascination.

The boy seemed to wiggle in his chair constantly – he seemed excessively fidgety and as he cracked open his screen to type something his free hand waved and tapped over the table. 

_“My name is_ Castiel, _what’s yours?”_

The computerized voice that the tablet spoke with was absent for the boy’s name, and instead was replaced with a woman’s voice speaking his name out for him.

And for good reason. Castiel? It was definitely a different name.

Dean listened to the other boy and then looked up to his face. Castiel was clearly talking to him – they were the only two at their table – and yet those blue eyes never locked on him once.

Dean reached out a single hand and cracked his tablet – which had displayed the remains of a chess game he and Sam had been playing before the other teen had to leave for class – and responded.

_“Dean._

The other boy made a happy humming sound and tapped out another sentence.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Castiel snapped his tablet flat and brought up his chess app and offered Dean a garbled vocal cue.

Dean quirked his eyes at the strange sounds and repetitive movements. He was curious why Castiel was acting the way he was, but figured that if the other teen was being kind enough to not ask what was wrong with him, then Dean could return the favor and not ask either.

Castiel pushed the tablet across the table and allowed Dean to make the first move.

After a few minutes of passing the tablet back and forth Castiel started smiling and tried to verbally say something. Dean passed his own tablet over without a moment’s hesitation – he knew the horrible feeling of having his voice taken away.

The other boy smiled and hummed as he typed. 

Due to his jerky movements and continuous patterns it took a bit for him to type out his responses to Dean, but Dean was never in a rush to hear what the other teen had to say. 

It actually felt kind of nice to talk to someone other than Sammy.

_“Thank you Dean. I got a checkmate with that last move, and apparently I need to play at a lower level than I normally do. You’re not too good at chess, are you?”_

Dean blanched at the other boy’s words. Castiel had only made five moves!

He pulled his tablet over. _“How did you do that?”_

Castiel smiled at the table top, _“I like chess.”_

Dean nodded and noticed Mrs. Short walk over to their table. “Hey guys!” she chirped, “I hope you enjoyed your chess game, but we’re going to get started on some math lessons, okay?”

He was a little upset that he could play chess anymore, but figured that working on math would be fine enough.

Mrs. Short brought over two green folders that had the names _Dean Winchester_ and _Castiel Novak_ on the fronts. They also displayed cartoonish clip art of mathematical elements on the front.

She handed Castiel his folder and the other boy immediately pulled out the first sheet and began working, uttering clipped words as he worked.

Mrs. Short sat down on next to Dean and set the green folder in front of him.

“So here’s how things will work for you here. Your common class teachers will be giving us your homework for each week and I’ll put them into the corresponding folders,” she said tapping the green folder, “so when you open them up,” which she did, “you’ll see that Mr. Riley has provided a sheet of notes to show what you should be doing for your problems.”

Dean was half paying attention to Mrs. Short as the other half of his attention was focused on Castiel. The other boy was still wiggling on his chair and whispering to himself. 

As Dean had been watching he had picked up on a pattern. Castiel would write something on his sheet, and then sit back in his chair and count his fingers on his free hand – one-two-three-four-five – five times over to himself before moving on to the next problem. It seemed to him that math and numbers was really Castiel’s thing.

“So do you have any questions?” 

Dean looked back to Mrs. Short. He had no clue what she had said regarding his homework, but he did have a question for her. 

_”Are there going to be other students in the room with us?”_

Because at the moment it was the three of them, and then five other students. Though the other students were seated at a different table – chatting happily with one another – as another teacher helped walk them through the sheets of paper they had on their desks. 

It was a small class, and Dean was curious if this was going to be it.

“Well, I’ll have you and Cassie for a majority of the day, but a few other students will be coming and going for various reasons; like for reading strategies and stuff. I’ll also have Mrs. White in the room with me, she’s a paraprofessional. Most of the time she’ll be in here with us, but on occasion she’ll be leaving to go to different classes to work with students.”

Dean nodded and looked back at the tabletop, fidgeting with a patient smile. 

He shook his head no.

“Okay, so – math,” she said before delving into the pile of papers his math teacher had left behind.

*****

Over the course of the morning Dean had learned a few things. First, math and science were infinitely easier to learn when you were being taught one on one by a teacher, and in line with that Mrs. Short was an extraordinarily smart woman. Second, being in the special education classroom was awesome, and he didn’t even mean that in a sarcastic way. He enjoyed the fact that he didn’t have to leave the room and that Mrs. Short was always there to help him. The third was that Castiel – while quirky and at times unexplainable – was kind of a joy to be around.

The fluffy haired teen was always humming or making strange noises that made Dean smile because he always sounded so gosh darn happy all of the time. He was really talented with numbers and math and had kicked Dean’s ass at two more chess games before the morning was through. But what Castiel really had an affinity for was playing the piano. 

The other teen had an app on his tablet that presented itself as white piano keys. Castiel had played a few songs for him and then shared the fact that when given the chance to listen to a song he was able to memorize the notes and play the song back over again on the piano.

And, well, Dean had to test him on his theory. 

Mrs. Short humored them for the few minutes it took for Dean to play Ramble On – the school had WiFi, who knew? – before Castiel started to recreate the song on the piano.

Dean was fucking impressed.

Shortly after discovering Cas’ incredible talent the bell rang, signaling that it was time for Dean to head off to English class with Sam. 

His boyfriend was wonderful enough to come and pick him up in Mrs. Shorts’ room, which was awesome because Dean wouldn’t have been able to handle walking through the crowded hallways on his own. 

Sam stepping through Mrs. Short’s door had Dean beaming. He had wanted to introduce Sam to Castiel, but the fluffy haired teen had seemed preoccupied with some game he had on his tablet. 

“You ready to go Dean?” Sam asked, dimples on display as he toyed with the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean could feel and hear the _”I’ve missed you,”_ and the _“have you been okay?”_ plain as day. 

He’d been equally anxious to see Sam.

Dean nodded; he had stuffed his English book and tablet into his backpack and had everything to go before Sam had showed up. 

As Sam led him out into the hall he ducked his head and curled in close to Sam as the taller teen’s arm draped over his shoulders.

The hallways were much more crowded than Dean was used to. Large bodies of students converged in the congested hallways and he felt his anxiety level rise at the prospect of hundreds of eyes watching him as he walked. 

He managed only a few steps before he forced his eyes shut and pressed his nose into Sam’s chest. By shutting out the sight, and breathing in the fresh smell of Sam he was able to keep himself from spiraling into a full blown anxiety attack, and though he knew he looked strange walking blindly through the hall he trusted Sam to get them where they needed to be. 

After effectively zoning out it seemed that the walk to their English class seemed easy. 

Sam had them seated in their desks and removed Dean’s backpack for him, before he redirected Dean’s head to his shoulder. 

Dean took a deep breath and focused on Sam’s fingers carding through his hair. He had been removed from the safe haven which was Mrs. Shorts, classroom – but he was back with Sam – so he was torn on how he was feeling.

He rubbed his nose against Sam’s shoulder a few times before he peeked out into the room.

About half of the other desks were filled in; the desks were laid out in a typical row by row pattern, and he and Sam were in the back of the room next to where the teacher’s desk was located.

Being that this was Dean’s first time in the English class he had a few questions for Sam that he hadn’t got around to asking yet. He pulled away from Sam’s side so he could slip his tablet out from his backpack.

_“So what are we doing in this class?”_ Dean made sure to type out his responses but not hit the speak command so that their conversation could be more private.

“This class is more like a college seminar class than a regular high school class,” Sam started to explain. “We’re going to be reading a bit more different material to discuss during class.”

_“Nerd. I meant what are we reading first?”_ Dean smirked.

Sam snorted before he bent over to grab a book from his backpack; it was a thick volume book, with thin, tissue like paper for the pages. He flipped through it before tilting the book in Dean’s direction.

Dean leaned forward to study the page before glancing up at Sam through his eyelashes. “Shakespeare?” he questioned verbally.

Sam nodded, smiling as he pulled the book back. “Shakespeare’s sonnets,” he stated. “They’re famous pieces that people use for romantic declarations of love, or wedding vows. But!” Sam announced holding up a single finger, “what a lot of people don’t know is that Shakespeare dedicated his sonnets to a man.”

Dean pressed his lips together in thought. He wasn’t a huge Shakespeare reader, he knew the guy was a play writer, but he never would have guessed that his romantic sonnets – whatever the hell a sonnet was – would have been written to another man.

He tugged Sam’s book back over and started glancing through the pages while Sam reached over and scratched circles into Dean’s back through his t-shirt. 

A few peaceful, relaxing minutes passed before a dark-skinned woman stepped up to the front of the classroom and got the class rolling.

Their English teacher – Mrs. Cooper – gave the class a lecture on background information of the material that they would be reading and discussing. It may have been fifty minutes where Dean was in a room full of other people, but the low pressure environment of the classroom made it very simple for Dean to – sort of – relax in the back of the classroom while taking notes with Sam. It was fairly easy to say that he was almost upset when the bell rang. The class had felt so normal, with normal students without weird problems like him.

He was putting his things away in his backpack when he realized it was insulting to everyone in Mrs. Shorts class to consider them weirdos like himself. 

_Dean_ was the abnormal one, it wasn’t fair to put people such as Cas into the same category as him.

Dean was about to divulge in some abusive thoughts regarding himself when Sam reached over and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him close enough for a quick kiss. He licked the warm spot left over from Sam’s kiss on his bottom lip as Sam pulled back and shot him a wink.

He would never understand how his wonderful boyfriend always knew to intervene and make him feel better.

After English was lunch time for the two of them. From their position in the classroom Dean could hear the students out in the hallway. After being released from class much of the student body fell into anarchy. Running up and down the halls and talking at volumes that were much too unacceptable for Dean to be comfortable with.

He was happy that they were going to stick around for a few extra minutes to talk to Mrs. Cooper to give the students outside a chance to settle down before he was forced into the same space as them.

The two of them were standing by Mrs. Cooper’s desk when the teacher walked toward them.

“Hello boys,” she greeted them, making her way over to an organization unit perched at the end of her desk. “Dean, it’s nice to meet you,” she said genuinely, while smartly not extending her hand in an attempt at a greeting.

She dropped her eyes to the folders as she scanned through them for the items she was searching for.

“Now, I know you’re a little young to be taking this class, but Sam here has vouched for you, saying that he thinks you’ll be more than capable of handling the material.”

She pulled out several sheets and handed them to Sam, who in turn put them in Dean’s backpack which the younger teen was currently wearing.

“The set-up for the class is lecture and discussion,” she kept saying, “the lecture portion is what I did today with background information, was that okay with you?”

Dean nodded, lecture was easy. He was allowed to relax and take notes and curl his free hand around Sam’s bicep if he felt like it.

“Okay, for tomorrow we’re moving onto a guided discussion for the reading that is assigned on the syllabus. I’ll tell you what I told the class, I like to hear from students, and if a class discussion gets really interesting and we end up taking longer on a certain text then it’s okay. We can hit or miss as many texts as we need to. It’s whatever the class dictates.

“I understand that discussion might be a little difficult for you though,” Mrs. Cooper broke off and allowed Sam to answer her question-not-a-question.

“He has a tablet he uses to communicate,” Sam explained, and their teacher nodded her head in understanding, “but I don’t think he’s particularly comfortable using it in class yet.”

Sam put an arm around his shoulders and Dean made a face which gave truth to Sam’s statement. “Dean was okay using his tablet to communicate, but he was kind of scared the reaction that other students might have should he be forced into using it during class.

“Okay, that’s understandable. I just encourage you to _try_ ,” his teacher asked. “In the meantime, until you work up the confidence to participate fully in class discussions can you bring a written response to class for each text? Nothing extreme, just a few hundred words hand written with your thoughts. That way I can know what you’re thinking and make sure that you’re reading and comprehending the material?”

Dean nodded again, he could do that.

“Wonderful. Sam can help you get started on the sonnets, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Sam and Dean said their goodbyes and walked out in the – much calmer – hallway so they could head off to lunch. Dean smiled down at his and Sam’s intertwined hand, it was much easier to feel comfortable with Sam’s little PDA’s when there weren’t any people around to see them.

“So do you want to eat lunch in the cafeteria?” 

Dean ruffled his nose in distaste. He and Sam had their lunches packed in their backpacks already as neither teen wanted to waste their appetite on school lunches. He was aware of the fact that Sam shared his lunch hour with a few friends – ones that Dean has already met, and could probably like – but Dean kind of wanted the other teen to himself for a while. 

Before Dean could even get the chance to respond to the question his boyfriend had already interpreted his face and determined a better course of action for the two of them. 

“Or we could head to the library and find a quiet spot to sit at?”

Dean grinned and nodded at that suggestion, “I’d like that,” he whispered since they were alone in the hallway.

“I like you,” Sam replied with a small smile before pulling Dean in for a kiss to his forehead.

Dean rolled his eyes. 

His boyfriend was such a loveable dork.

Sam led the two of them to the library, which was fairly empty and quiet, and found a row of carols for them to sit at. They sat down and pulled their chairs close together so that their thighs touched. 

Dean pulled out his lunch of a simple peanut butter jelly sandwich and chips and Sam started assembling the salad that he brought with. 

They ate in companionable silence with each other. Dean enjoyed the fact that he was able to be with Sam and not feel pressured into trying to create a conversation between the two of them.

It was something that Dean loved about Sam – that they could sit around together and neither of them had to force themselves into manipulating the silence around them. 

It wasn’t until Dean was wiping the back of his hand over his lips to remove any trace evidence of crumbs, and he crumpled his empty containers that Sam tugged him closer. 

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and shoulders and pulled him towards his chest. Dean smiled and willingly went, curling himself against Sam and allowing his head to drop to Sam’s neck. 

They were tucked away in a quiet, private section of the library, and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care that he was snuggling his boyfriend at school. 

Dean closed his eyes and relaxed into his boyfriend’s arms. It wasn’t that the morning had been stressful – well, not nearly as stressful as he had assumed it would be – but it was still nice to feel comforted without having to go through a mental breakdown to get it.

Sam shifted around and Dean willingly went with the movements until Sam’s lips pressed up against Dean’s ear.

At first all Dean felt was Sam’s warm breath, until the older teen started whispering, his soft lips brushing against the shell of Dean’s ear.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Dean snorted and turned his head so he could giggle into Sam’s chest. He could feel Sam’s smile as the older teen pressed his lips to the top of his head. 

Dean was relaxed, comfortable and warm, and he had nearly dropped off into a quick nap when the bell rang.

He frowned as he pulled away from the snuggly pillow of Sam’s chest, and pouted further as Sam chuckled at the disgruntled look on his face.

“C’mon,” Sam said standing up to retrieve their things, “just a few more hours and I’ll be back to pick you up at Mrs. Shorts’ room.”

Sam held out Dean’s backpack for him to put on, and he grudgingly put his arms through the straps.

“I’ll walk you to Mrs. Baxter’s office,” he continued, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him out of the library. 

Dean frowned again, but for a different reason this time, he had forgotten that he would be having daily meeting with the school psychologist. He wasn’t too particularly worried about talking to the woman, Mrs. Baxter was a very kind, very friendly woman, but he was a little nervous about what she would try to get him to talk about.

“Okay,” Dean croaked, confident that Sam would get him there safely.


	31. Dean's High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final half of Dean's real first day.

Mrs. Baxter’s office was comforting. It didn’t hold quite the same bubbled atmosphere of quiet that Dean found in Mrs. Short’s room, but it worked to calm him nonetheless. 

Sam dropped him off in the chair right before Mrs. Baxter’s desk, not at the door like he had assumed. His boyfriend had pushed him down into the chair by his shoulders and kissed the top of his head before walking off to his next class. 

Dean could only blush and smile. 

But then Dean had been left alone with Mrs. Baxter, and for one hot, terrifying moment he felt his lungs clench and his heart pound. It had been a while since he had truly been alone with someone who wasn’t Sam or family. It took a few seconds for Dean to return to relaxed and normal, when he remembered who Mrs. Baxter was and that she was here to help.

She only looked on calmly, as if sensing that Dean needed a moment.

He nodded his head slightly to let her know that he was okay.

“So how is today going Dean?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder as he typed something out. 

_“Not bad. Kinda adjusting to the whole special ed classes thing.”_

Mrs. Baxter nodded, “it’s structured a little differently from the traditional classes. But do you like them?”

_“Yeah. Mrs. Short is really smart, and she’s pretty cool. It’s easier to learn when it’s just you and not a whole bunch of other people.”_

“Have you met any other students in the class that you like?”

Dean nodded. _“Yeah. Can’t spell his name though.”_

“Let me guess, Castiel?”

_“That’s him.”_

“So have you talked to him?”

_“Yeah. We played a few games of chess. He totally kicked my – ,”_ Dean had to edit his words before hitting the speak prompt. _“butt. He’s pretty good with numbers. Did you know he can play the piano? Like really, really well?”_

Mrs. Baxter chuckled and pushed herself back in her seat, “I did.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel more relaxed at the woman’s more casual posture. 

“At the end of the year we usually have an arts performance in the theatre. People can display their dances, they can sing, or they can play music during the intermission of the spring plays. Castiel is a feature in the arts performance each year.” She was swinging back and forth in her chair. “I think everyone will be upset when he’s not around to play anymore.”

Dean nodded at that. He would love to see the guy play on a regular piano. 

“So how was it talking to Castiel in comparison to everyone else?”

He scratched at his chin. 

Castiel had been the one person Dean had “talked” to who used a tablet as well. And honestly? It had felt good. Like someone else knew the struggle that he went through in order to get his words out. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one.

_“It was different.”_

He offered as an immediate response and then held up a finger as he worked his thoughts out to type a bit more.

_“I felt like he already understood some of the things that I don’t know how to say. Like we’re connected with each other because we both have this crappy situation to deal with. We both have this level of understanding with each other, like. It was easy to talk to him.”_

Dean bit his lip as he thought of a better way to explain the spinning thoughts in his head.

_“It’s like ever since this whole thing started, that I’ve been speaking with an accent. And no one around me has one. And I sound weird. And different. But then I found him, and I’ve found someone else to speak in an accent with me. And there’s things that we already know about each other that people around us would never in a million years understand because they’ve never had an accent before.”_

Dean paused one more time.

_“Cas knows what it feels like to be different.”_

Mrs. Baxter smiled, “yes he does.”

_“Is it rude for me to ask about him?”_ Dean typed out.

“Not at all, Castiel will be the first one to tell you that he’s never been ashamed of who he is. In fact, I think he’s said more than once that he loves it, and he never would have chosen a different way of life.”

Dean nodded, but that didn’t answer the question buzzing around his head.

_“I guess what I’m trying to ask nicely is, what does he have?”_

“I’m very impressed with you Dean, most people would have asked ‘What’s wrong with him’.”

_“He isn’t broken.”_

“You’re right. I’m not saying he is either, I just think that your comprehension of the world surpasses your age. Castiel is autistic.”

_“I don’t know a lot about autism. I mean I’ve heard of it. Just don’t know much.”_

She nodded. “It’s one of those things that everyone has heard of, but not many people know much about it unless they’ve come in direct contact with it before. But at its most basic level it’s a communication disorder.”

Mrs. Baxter gave a pause and allowed Dean to finish typing out what he wanted to say. It was something that he noticed few people doing when talking with him. People like Cas, Sam, Mrs. Short and Mrs. Baxter would do it, but other people didn’t give Dean those short pauses. It seemed like such a small thing, but when Dean needed time to type out his responses it made such a huge difference. 

People are used to talking, hearing a response, and then replying. Down time in a conversation didn’t really happen, and when he “talked” with his parents or Bobby and Ellen they often didn’t account for the time that Dean would need to talk. 

Sure, the conversations would turn out fine, but there were times that Dean would hit talk when someone started talking again and he would have to abort the prompt and start over, or he would have to bring up something that had ended a number of minutes ago in the conversation because he hadn’t been given a chance to ‘jump in’ to what was being said. 

It was such a little thing that he had noticed throughout his first day at school, but it made it so much easier to talk to people he wasn’t familiar with.

_“Is that why he has a tablet?”_

“Yeah. He can’t get his words out. Castiel is friendly enough, he just can’t talk all the time.”

Dean nodded, and he went to type out another response about Cas when Mrs. Baxter held up her hand.

“As much as I would love to continue talking about my other favorite angel in Mrs. Short’s room, I’d like to talk about you for a little bit, if that’s okay?”

He paused and moved his head in some semblance of a nod. 

“I just want to let you know a few things right off Dean. First, whatever we talk about will be completely confidential. Alright? Sam, your parents, your teachers, none of them will be privy to the conversations that we have. I won’t be recording anything, and if I take notes it will be very little and they’ll go into a folder that gets locked up. Alright?”

Dean made the effort to look up into the woman’s eyes. Mrs. Baxter had such a unique atmosphere about her. She held all of the good qualities of a Mother-Aunt-Social Worker combination and nothing about her felt negative or reprimanding. 

“Yeah,” he spoke freely.

She smiled at that and then leaned a little closer to the desk. “How are you Dean?”

How was he?

Big question. He was afraid damn near every second that he was away from his house, and that was only ever made better whenever he had Sam by his side. He was still plagued with ill thoughts about himself and his self-worth. He hated the scars that had been left behind on his body, both the ones done to him and the ones he’s created himself 

He felt like a burden to everyone he came in contact with in his life. His parents would be better off financially if they didn’t have to take care of him, and though he would love a part-time job the idea of interacting with the public at large had Dean’s lungs seizing. 

He loved Sam, wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sam, and yet he still had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that Sam was with him. That Sam was _part_ of his life. 

Hell, sometimes Dean thinks he’s still stuck on the couch in his family room creating an elaborate fantasy in his head surrounding the hot guy he had spied in the driveway across the street. 

So. How was he?

A shade better physically than where he was a few months ago, but emotionally and mentally he was still a little sickly.

“Better,” he uttered.

“What makes you say that?”

Dean fiddled with his tablet before responding. _“I’m out of my house for starters, and I’m not terrified. I’ve put on some weight and I can talk to my parents again. But I still struggle. My head is just. It’s full of a lot of thoughts. And they’re,”_ he paused in his typing and sighed tapping out _“confusing,”_ before he hit the speak command. 

“We’ll get into your thoughts at some point down the line, but why do you think it is that you’re getting better?”

He chuckled and spoke his favorite word, “Sam.”

Mrs. Baxter smiled and tapped her desk with a pen she was taking notes with. “I’m looking forward to talking to that particular young man.” She wrote something out and then sat back in her chair again. “So tell me about Sam.”

A slow grin spread out over Dean’s face and he made a show of glancing up at the clock. _“Fifty minutes to talk about Sam? I think that should be enough.”_

*****

It was the end of the school day. Dean’s _first_ school day, and after the final bell had rung he waited about Mrs. Short’s classroom for Sam like a child waits outside of an elementary school for their parents. 

It made him feel a little better though that he had Cas to wait with.

They were playing another game of chess at their table. Cas was wiggling in his seat and Dean was hunkered down with his arms crossed and laid down on the table to support his chin. They were using Cas’ tablet for the game and Dean’s was laid off to the side in case either of them wanted to say something. 

It was currently Dean’s move. And he was trying to remember how the horse thing moved …

He took a chance and moved one of his pieces. 

Cas in turn squeaked something out before tapping the screen, moving a piece and declaring a quick grunt that Dean knew to interpret as “checkmate” with how many times the other teen had won.

“Cas would you let the poor thing win one game?” Mrs. Short spoke from her desk.

The only indication that Cas had heard her was his shy smile. 

Dean rolled his eyes and watched as Cas set up a new game. 

Before they were able to get to playing though a student stepped through the door and made a beeline for Cas. 

Dean was distracted by her, she looked to be the same age as Cas, seventeen or so, but she looked so – dark. Not in a bad way, just, like her personality wouldn’t mesh with someone so sweet like Cas.

She strolled right up and wrapped her arms around Cas’ neck before planting a big kiss on the boy’s cheek, she released one arm to wipe away the smudge of dark lipstick that had been left behind and then nuzzled into Cas’ hair. 

Cas in turn started this happy hum, this _purring_ , and Dean was once again reminded of his thought of Cas being a frightless kitten.

The girl looked to the table and noticed both tablets on the table, “who’s the stud Clarence?”

Another quirk was seen to Cas’ lips as he reached for the free tablet as Dean made his first move on the chess board.

_“My new friend Dean.”_

Dean smiled into the cuff of his sleeves at that declaration.

The girl nodded and introduced herself, “Meg,” she said waving her hand as opposed to offering it for a shake, “Cassie’s girlfriend.”

She most likely saw the look of surprise on Dean’s face if he was to guess the motivation behind her next comment.

“I’ve known Cassie for a while. He grew on me and I just couldn’t let him go.” She shrugged as she sat down, wrapping her arm around Cas’ elbow.

Dean watched from his huddled little cocoon the reaction that Meg’s proximity brought to the other teen. Cas had been a pleasant bundle of happiness all day, but in Meg’s presence he _glowed_. Dean could _feel_ how happy the other teen was to have Meg in his life. And Dean was happy that his new friend could count on someone so special.

Dean was about to feel wistful when his own special someone walked in the door.

“Hey Mrs. Short,” Sam huffed out as he came through the door.

“Hello Sam.”

Dean glanced up and caught Sam’s eyes. The older teen released a sweet, mega-watt smile when his eyes landed on Dean.

Sam took a few long strides over to the table and sat down, delivering his own kiss to Dean’s temple before he even paid an ounce of attention to the other two inhabitants.

“Hi,” he said sweetly. And Dean could hear the initial uncertainty Sam had as to how he should interact with Cas and Meg. 

Dean held his hand out and Cas passed the tablet over. 

Everyone at the table patiently waited as Dean typed out what he needed to say.

_“Sam, this is Cas and his girlfriend Meg. This is my boyfriend Sam.”_

Meg chuckled at Dean’s introduction. “You call him Cas?”

_“Can’t spell his full name.”_

Cas laughed at that, his high pitched giggle that Dean had already grown accustomed to and loved. Cas laughed with his whole person, he could respect that about the other teen. 

“What’s his full name?” Sam asked curiously.

“Castiel,” Meg said, and Dean instantly recognized it for the voice that spoke Cas’ full name on the tablet. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to spell that either.” Sam threw an arm over Dean’s shoulders and pulled lightly at his hair, “hey, we gotta get going, we have cross country practice remember?”

Dean had actually forgotten about that. 

_“Forgot. We’ll have to finish some other time Cas.”_ Dean tapped out as he stood up and Sam retrieved his things. 

The other boy nodded and pulled his own tablet close to say something. 

_“You might want to look up how to play chess.”_

“Cassie did you let him win at all?” Meg budded in.

“What do you think Meg?” Mrs. Short said from her desk.

Everyone laughed, even Sam who didn’t know about Cas’ affinity for playing chess like a pro. 

They said their goodbyes after that and went their separate ways, but before they went Dean couldn’t help but notice this look that passed between Meg and Sam. It reminded Dean about what he had said to Mrs. Baxter about how he felt about Cas. How Cas already kind of understood Dean because of their similarities. 

Meg and Sam looked at each other as two people who were used to shielding the people they loved from the harsher truths of the world. 

Dean liked that. He liked knowing that he not only had a connection with Cas, but that Sam could have a connection with Meg.

He hoped that the four of them could hang out some time. 

He held onto Sam’s hand and smiled as the older teen led him down the hall. Dean was actually excited about their cross country practice. He’d already met most of the team, and they were a good group. He knew that the boys and girls practiced together since the separate teams were so small, so he wasn’t worried about interacting with the group.

And it had been so long since Dean had gone running in a group before. Running solo at a race and running in pairs was fun, but nothing quite compared to that feeling of being in a cluster of other runners. Of feeling like he belonged. 

They were a little late getting to the locker rooms that Dean had yet to see, but the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The rest of the boys were dressed and making their way out as Sam and Dean slipped inside. 

Dean was immediately feeling uneasy, even with Sam’s constant presence, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get through the idea of dressing for practice with all of the guys in the room with him – how had he not thought of this before? – when Sam wordlessly dragged him into the large handicap stall of the bathroom. 

Sam held out the duffle which held both of their things and dropped it to the floor before he started to strip and dress. Dean paused and watched Sam for a moment, taking in the view of Sam pulling off his shirt and bundling it into a ball to be stuffed into a corner of the bag. 

Sam let a quiet little smirk slip free before Dean got with the program and started dressing as well. 

The weather was warm enough out to warrant going shirtless, a running choice many guys – including Sam – chose whenever the weather got too hot, but Dean didn’t feel even the slightest bit of self-consciousness when they trekked outside to find that he was the only male runner with a tank top on. 

Sam just made him feel too good.

The high school’s cross country team was small. Fifteen students in total, including both girls and boys. 

The small group of them were clustered behind the school’s gym, collected in an oblong circle as they lazy stretched while talking with one another. 

Sam’s friends were among the group and so naturally the older teen was talking to them. Dean smiled whenever a member of the group caused Sam to throw his chestnut-brown haired head in a full belly laugh. And instead of feeling jealous that he wasn’t the one putting that airy look on Sam’s face, Den felt privileged because it was his hand that Sam stubbornly held onto – even though it made some of their stretches difficult.

Cross country practices were simple. Which was what Dean loved most about them, because it was just running. Just plain, simple, fuck-awesome running. 

The group took off shortly after that and they ran a handful of miles on the sidewalks around town. 

It was a great way for Dean to not only get used to the place he now lived, but it was also a great chance for him to get used to people outside of Sam and Cas.

Dean wasn’t much of a talker when it came to running, even before everything, but some people liked to spend the time just talking constantly. 

Sam’s friend Garth was one of them, and since Dean didn’t have the heart – or the ability – to tell him to can it the quirky teen had taken it as an open invitation to run alongside of Dean and talk.

It was nothing talk. The inconsequential chatter that was released when someone was talking simply for something to do. 

Dean learned all about Garth’s classes and eventually got an earful about a colorful sounding freshman named Becky that the teen seemed overly infatuated with.

Of course, if you asked Dean, the Becky chick sounded like five pounds of crazy in a three pound bag. 

Tough luck dude. It’s why Dean didn’t do chicks.

When Garth’s chatter had started up Sam moved a little closer to the teen, as if he was preparing to wave Garth down, it had been a slight move of Dean’s hand that waved the other teen off. 

Dean didn’t mind Garth, and if pressed to answer, he might even say he liked him.

At the end of the run was the promised runner’s high that Dean was always after, the one that burned in his chest and thighs and told him that he’d done a good job at something. The team came to a stop outside of the gym doors and followed up with some finishing stretches to avoid cramping before Sam was tugging him inside.

“C’mon,” the older teen huffed, “let’s get home so you can tell Mom all about your first day.” Sam pulled him into the locker room and grabbed all of their stuff up before Dean could even attempt a nonverbal reply.

He merely smiled and caught the backpack that was thrown his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments?


	32. Idgits

Dean giggled brokenly into the pillow that he had a death grip on. Half-aborted chuckles made way for embarrassingly squeaky snorts or full on belly laughs as he writhed around the ruffled covers of his bed as Sam wriggled around over him, pressing him – face first – further into the mattress. 

His shoulders were up around his ears – and weren’t doing him a damn bit of good – as Sam set about his impromptu mission to tickle, lick and kiss every square inch of Dean’s sensitive neck. 

He buried his face into the pillow – that he vaguely noticed smelled like Sam’s shampoo, as it was the one Sam had slept on – and tried to turn away from Sam’s tingly tongue. 

Sam’s hands were trying to worm between Dean’s body and the bed, for what, he had no clue, but the two points of attack weren’t fair, and Dean was slowly losing.

Sam’s tongue started tickling at the sensitive pulse point behind Dean’s left ear, and between his full blown laughter and shaking his head to dislodge Sam’s attack Dean felt Sam’s hands successfully reach up and attach around Dean’s wrists.

He was screwed now.

Sam started pulling at Dean’s arms, unwrapping his octopus limbs from the pillow as he blew raspberries into Dean’s neck.

Dean had nothing left now but to pathetically kick his feet out – occasionally bumping them against Sam’s when they weren’t flopping down on the mattress – and laughing out as he uttered breathy “stops” as he hoped Sam would continue.

Sam was much stronger than Dean was though, and once the older teen planted his knees by Dean’s hips on the bed and pulled he was able to get his arms and carefully pull them behind him. 

Dean allowed himself to catch his breath as Sam rearranged his limbs for him, and soon Dean’s forearms were pinned to his lower back, one of Sam’s large paws holding them down. 

He turned his head to the other side panting as he pressed his cheek into the soft, warm pillow that smelled too good, as a comforting – and hot – weight made a home for itself on Dean’s ass. 

“Tha’s better,” Sam said out of breath as he straddled him, and Dean hummed as his boyfriend leaned forward to press a warm kiss at the back of his neck. 

It was strange how Dean felt comfortable with Sam holding him down like that. If it would have been anyone else – even if the situation hadn’t changed, _especially_ if the situation hadn’t changed – Dean would have been freaking the fuck out, and probably would have had nine panic attacks during the course of the tickle ambush, but Sam? Sam could do anything he wanted with Dean. 

Dean – naively – relaxed, thinking that they were going to move onto something else, but he should have known better. After all, his boyfriend was _Sam_.

Just as he prepared himself to be rolled over for some loving kisses he felt Sam’s hair tickling the back of his neck, just before the other teens’ lips latched onto Dean’s earlobe.

“Sam!” he yelped, rucking up his shoulders and turning his head. 

All that earned him was the sound of Sam’s menacing chuckle as the older teen followed whatever moves Dean made.

“Hold still!”

“No!”

Dean kept squirming, but this time Sam was sitting on him like he was riding a bull, as opposed to hovering over him like Sam was at the beginning. And the combination of ‘forceful’ restraint, friction, heat and teenage hormones meant that Sam wasn’t trying to _“stay on”_ as much as he was just plain grinding against Dean’s ass.

And Dean was kind enough to prop his ass out – presenting it to Sam as if his boyfriend was some Alpha male – so that there was a better surface for friction between the two of them.

From there the tickling and wiggling continued, but it didn’t take very long for the actions to develop into sucking and humping.

Pretty soon Dean’s arms were released and he used them to push himself up a little higher off of the bed, Sam used the opportunity to use one hand to pull lightly at the hairs at the top of Dean’s head and pull it to the side, giving him an opportunity to start sucking and kissing at new spots on Dean’s neck. Sam’s other hand dove underneath of Dean and found a spot between his boxers and sweat pants, providing the perfect spot for Dean to rub off into. 

It didn’t take too much longer once they had a rhythm established, and Sam pressed one real kiss to Dean’s lips before they were just panting into each other’s mouths, their lips brushing with every thrust – the saliva-slick skin catching and sticking for the briefest of moments. 

Dean was the first one to finish. He leaned on one of his arms so that his other hand was free to grab around Sam’s wrist and hold it steady as he spilled out into his boxers, getting Sam’s hand all sticky in the process. 

He collapsed after that, trapping both his and Sam’s hands underneath of him.

Dean hummed contentedly, rubbing his nose in the warm, Sam-smelling crease of the pillow his face landed on as Sam rearranged himself on top of Dean.

Sam – still working toward his own orgasm – freed his hands from Dean’s body and used them to pull down the back of Dean’s sweatpants and boxers, just enough for a little tease of the younger teen’s ass. 

Dean watched lazily out of the corner of his eye and over his shoulder, all loose-limbed from his own release, as Sam freed his own cock and jacked off with a low possessive growl as his boyfriend came all over his ass. Sam stroked out the last of his orgasm before he reached down and rubbed a few of the pearly drops across Dean’s lower back, moving them into the crease of his ass as the older teen hummed happily.

It was a tender moment. Just Sam and Dean, post orgasm, in the privacy that they had with each other as Sam rubbed himself into Dean’s skin.

After a few minutes Dean opened his eyes – not even realizing that they had closed – and shifted on the bed.

“Y’good?” he murmured.

His answer was a soft kiss to the lips, which turned into a series of pecks that tasted like coffee laced with sugar.

“Yeah.”

Dean smiled as Sam climbed off of him and walked away to Dean’s hamper, pulling out a dirty towel to wipe off his crotch with. He turned over on the bed and watched Sam before he grabbed his tablet off the nightstand.

_“What were you saying earlier?”_

Sam chuckled as he balled up the towel and shoved it under a few dirty shirts. “Breakfast is ready princess, your mom wanted me to let you know.”

Dean hummed and laid back on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Don’ wanna,” he mumbled.

“C’mon baby, that’s what you said earlier and I really don’t want to smell like sex when I go down and finish my coffee sitting across the table from your mother.”

Dean smirked at that before he sat up on all fours on the bed, wiggling his ass in the air. 

He heard Sam chuckle behind him and felt his weight dip the mattress. His boyfriend rucked up Dean’s shirt and pulled his pants down just enough to expose everything that Sam’s come had touched. 

Dean smiled and blushed as he felt Sam kiss the curve of each cheek before he used a different dirty towel – still damp from when one of them used it to dry off after a shower – to clean him up.

After Sam finished Dean heard the sound of the towel being tossed on the floor _near_ the hamper. 

“Good?”

Dean rolled over and fixed his pants.

“Good.”

*****

“So what’s the plan for today?” 

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs and bacon to look at his mom. Sam was currently sipping at a cup of coffee that had too much flavoring and sugar for Dean’s taste. The table was divided in coffee preferences, Michael and Sam were heathens, destroying perfectly good coffee with creams and sugars; whereas Dean and Mary preferred the good, plain black stuff – Sam was tired after not only what he had done with Dean, but from a late night working at his Aunt’s bar like he did every Friday now that the school year had rolled around. 

He pulled his tablet over and thought as he typed out a response. 

It was Saturday, and Dean had finally made it through a full week of school, which put them at the third week of the semester starting Monday. Now that Dean was in Mrs. Short’s room for a majority of the day – minus English and lunch with Sam – he was enjoying school. Math wasn’t giving him too many problems now that he had a teacher’s undivided attention and Cas’ help when it came to things he just didn’t get. 

Dean was just finishing out typing the things he needed to on his tablet when his father spoke up.

“Sam, what is it you boys are doing today?”

Sam, who had been patiently waiting for Dean to finish typing, just shot an unpleasant look Michael’s way. “Dean was just about to answer your wife, sir.”

Dean smiled, no one other than his boyfriend could say the word “sir” with so much sass.

_“Sam and I were going to hang out at Bobby’s Garage for a few hours this morning. And then we’ve got a double date with Meg and Cas for a movie this afternoon.”_

Dean was proud of himself that this particular Saturday, and all of the fun plans that came along with it, existed as part of Dean’s life. He never really thought that he would have another normal Saturday for the rest of his life. So he was extraordinarily pleased with himself that he could report what he had planned.

“That sounds wonderful sweetheart,” his mother commented. She knew how great Dean felt about his plans.

“Who is Cas again?” his father asked.

Dean held up a finger to indicate that he was going to answer and typed out quickly as they ate quietly around him.

_“He’s in the special ed. class with me, Dad. He has autism, and we’re just meeting up with him and his girlfriend for us to hang out outside of school.”_

“You know,” Mary said conversationally as she took a sip of coffee, “I’ve been wondering how Meg’s relationship with Cas works. I’m not very familiar with autism, but it’s just curious to know what they’re like together.”

 _“I don’t think it’s any different from how Sam is with me.”_ Dean added quickly.

Mary smiled, “I know that sweetheart. I guess I just wonder if Meg is more caretaker or girlfriend to Cas.”

“I don’t see why she can’t be both,” Sam said with a shrug.

And Dean nodded. He was sure that he probably wouldn’t understand Meg’s relationship with Cas had he not had a similar one with Sam.

He’s sure he would have the same curiosities, ‘How can you be intimate with someone like that’ or ‘What do you do for a date,’ just questions that crop up when you compare their relationship with a couple who would be defined as quote-unquote _“Normal”_.

And he found that the answer was very simple. 

Meg was whoever Cas needed her to be, and whenever she wasn’t needed as a caretaker, as someone to help interpret the world for her boyfriend, well, she was the person who would give the world up for the boy that she cared about. Same went for Sam.

Sure, there were the intimate and physical aspects to any relationship, Dean and Sam were starting to figure theirs out, and surely Meg and Castiel had something going on in that regard, but whatever happened and however it happened it was all between them.

Dean knew for a fact that they kissed. He’d seen Meg peck Cas on the cheek or on the lips on occasion. And it was always sweet. The fluffy-haired teen always broke out into a healthy blush whenever he received those innocent kisses from his girlfriend, but he never seemed prone to initiate physical contact himself. 

It was something he had learned about Cas by observation, he _Loved_ it whenever Meg touched him. Small hugs, brushes of her hand, kisses of any kind. _Loved them._ But he never did anything back to her. He’d close his hand around hers if she put her hand in his, but he didn’t reciprocate hugs, touches, or kisses of any kind that Dean had seen.

And to Dean that was okay. 

It made Meg’s touches and Cas’ reactions to them even sweeter. Knowing that it brought some kind of pleasure to both teens. Knowing that Cas loved it, and that Meg didn’t hold an aversion to them just because Cas didn’t know how to respond.

“That’s true,” Mary said, pulling Dean from his thoughts, “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

Dean smiled at that. After his time in the Special Ed. classroom Dean had learned something about life that he didn’t know before. And that was that ignorance was okay. It was an ugly word, typically used in a derogatory and cruel way, but it was perfectly acceptable. After all, Sam and Dean knew nothing about autism, but Meg and Cas couldn’t judge, as the other couple had no experience with PTSD. They had different experiences. Simple as.

So what Dean had learned was this; ignorance is okay, unacceptance isn’t. 

Dean just shrugged and went back to eating his breakfast. 

He had a busy Saturday ahead of him.

*****

Sam always loved it whenever his Uncle found a reason to have Dean bent over the hood of a car. The sight of that perky little ass stuck up in the air, beckoning to Sam like some kind of siren song, was the greatest temptation Sam had ever seen in his life. 

It was a test of self-control, and concentration just for him to keep his hand from playing with his crotch, not to mention how difficult it was to keep his eyes focused on the page before him as he read Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” as they had moved on from Shakespeare’s sonnets and were now moving on to Mrs. Cooper’s favorite Shakespearean play. 

Sam and Dean had been reading the play out loud together the night before when Sam got home from the Roadhouse. They took turns reading back and forth, Sam speaking his lines slowly, and in exaggerated Elizabethan accents to allow time for Dean to type the lines up and “speak” them during his turn. 

It had all been great fun, and Dean’s question of “would you still love me if I turned out to be a girl” was met with Sam’s joking retort of “as a sister.” But for some reason all Sam could think of now was bending Dean over something while the younger teen wearing something obscene, like woman’s underwear, and pulling it aside before he buried himself deep in something hot and wet.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly and readjusted himself in his pants before he went back to ‘reading’.

Sam would never be able to pass for virginal or celibate – though he was a far cry from calling himself slutty – and it had been months since Sam had had full blown penetrative sex with someone. He’d been with Dean for two months – _two!_ – and it had been at least a month before that since Sam had had sex with a boy he met through Charlie. He hadn’t meant anything – Sam couldn’t even remember the guy’s name – but he had been some hot black guy with muscles who liked Sam and who liked to take it up the ass. 

Dean was it for him though. There wasn’t going to be anyone else. Which meant that until the day Dean was ready for it, full blown sex was off the table, it was just so damn hard – literally – with Dean displaying himself so wantonly like that…

“Hey Sam?”

Sam jumped at the sudden appearance of his Uncle.

“Ye-yeah Uncle Bobby?” Sam stammered as he drew his textbook over his lap.

Bobby glanced between Sam and where Dean was bent over the hood of the car a few feet in front of them. He tactfully rolled his eyes and said nothing more as he continued talking, “what time were you boys going to be coming home tonight?”

“Uh – d’um, uh well the movie starts at eight,” God, was he fourteen? Sam had dealt with awkward boners before. He could certainly handle popping one in front of his Uncle, couldn’t he?

“That doesn’t help me Sam.”

“Oh, uh, ten?” 

“That a question?”

Sam took a breath, and felt his inappropriate erection flagging, “no.”

His Uncle crossed his arms and shot him a pointed look, “then you want to try that again?”

“Ten.”

Bobby reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, “why don’t you take a walk,” he pointedly suggested.

And Sam was too embarrassed to do anything other than shyly nod and make his exit to the land of junk in the back of the lot.

*****

Bobby shook his head as he watched his boy slink off out of the building. He’d have to be nine kinds of stupid to not know what Sam was thinking, and he figured it would be best for everyone involved if Sam wasn’t around to spy Dean as he worked on Mr. Kirkpatrick’s carburetor.

While Bobby and Ellen still didn’t know every detail about Dean they damn well enough of it, even the talk he and Michael had had over the summer at Sam’s damn party hadn’t been enough to fill in all of the blanks. He and his wife had figured it out fairly early on that their nephew and the boy next door would be connected, for better or worse, no matter what life brought their way.

And it seemed that Dean’s parents thought the same thing.

The week before school started the four of them sat down – unbeknownst to the boys – and Bobby and Ellen had plain as day asked outright everything that they needed to know if they were going to properly care for Dean.

“I don’t care that Sam ain’t my kid, and the same goes for your boy. I feel for those two idjits, and I don’t want to screw nothing up,” he’d said.

Michael and Mary had been wary at first about giving out information, but eventually the whole truth had come out, and Ellen and Bobby had learned everything they needed to know to deal with one Dean Campbell.

“Sir?”

Bobby was pulled from his musings at the prompting of the soft spoken boy behind him.

“Yeah kid?”

He turned to see Dean standing with his tablet at the ready, a smear of engine grease on his forehead.

_“Where’d Sammy go?”_

“Sent him out back to find a part for me,” he lied easily, “you get that cap tightened?”

Dean nodded before holding up a finger and tapping away on his little gadget.

Bobby shifted around on his feet as he waited; the damn tablet was the one thing he couldn’t get used to. He always forgot that Dean needed time to ‘prepare’ to talk, and the last several days he had noticed himself talking over Dean in conversation.

He’d been working on that.

Dean cleared his throat to recapture Bobby’s attention before he started to talk.

_“I got everything finished that you asked me to. Anything else you want me to do?”_

Bobby pawed at the scruff on his face as he considered the kid before him. 

Dean was all bright eyes and innocent smiles. He had a damn pretty face – if he was being completely honest – and the damn kid opened up like a ‘Where’s Waldo’ book. You could see everything in that kid’s face, and yet most of the time you hadn’t a clue what you were looking for. 

At the moment Dean’s large green eyes looked a mix between timid and hopeful – though if it was timidness over Bobby’s proximity nix Sam, or timidness in general, he hadn’t a clue. He couldn’t venture a guess of where the hopefulness stemmed from. It could be that the kid was raring to go on another car – damn kid was a greaser like himself – but it could have easily been hopefulness that Dean’s usefulness was over for the day and that Bobby would send him packing. 

He huffed out a sigh and gestured for the boy to follow him to the front office where he pulled two twenties from the cashbox and handed them over.

Dean wasn’t _officially_ working of him – yet – but Bobby paid the kid cash whenever he spent a few hours working on the little things that Bobby didn’t want to waste time on.

Dean had been visibly uncomfortable the first time Bobby had slapped a twenty into his hands during a handshake, but Bobby had ensured that the money stayed where he had put I when he added a gruff “I only pay real men for their work boy, and that’s to make sure that you always come back to my garage. The world needs more men like you.”

Dean had blushed furiously under his praise, but damnit if he didn’t deserve it. Kid was starved for all of the fatherly affection he clearly wasn’t receiving.

This time around Dean nodded his head in thanks – might have gotten the actual word out itself, but it was too soft for Bobby to tell – as he stuffed the cash in his pocket.

“That extra twenty is for tonight. I want to make sure that you boys have a good time, and be sure that these friends of yours have fun too, y’hear me?”

Dean nodded again, and Bobby was happy to see a soft smile on the boy’s lips.

“Alright. Now you go find Sam and be stupid.”

Dean ducked his head, smiling shyly at Bobby’s dismissal – boy was finally used to his unique version of showing love.

Bobby looked through the door Dean left from for a moment before chuckling silently to himself. 

“Idjits.”


	33. Need Some Sweetness In My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double Date time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two months of silence I feel like it goes without saying that I had one hell of a time getting this chapter out. Cas heavy chapters are like that though as there are a lot of things for me to consider and tweak, I feel like I'm always writing him wrong and eventually I just have to call it good. 
> 
> Good news: I plotted out the remaining chapters to hammer out the plot. (There's a plot?) Yes. And I've run off course. I fell asleep at the wheel and the characters took over. 
> 
> There are roughly ten chapters left to this story, as Im going to wrangle it back to where it's supposed to be. 
> 
> Let my clarify by saying that I am not attempting to wrap this story up quickly in any way whatsoever. This is just me taking control of my rebellious creations and getting back to the place I want to be. 
> 
> I've said before on the site I originally posted this at that I'd like to do sequels and that sentiment continues. I'm happy to say that so long as there is a single person out there who read my story that I will continue. Even if that person is just me :)
> 
> So I'm sorry for the long wait and I hope you can forgive me :)

Sam was driving the two of them out to Cas’ house. They’re on their way to pick up the other teens for their double date, and his nerves are shot with anxiety.

Throughout the weeks Sam has become better at perfecting his encounters with Dean. It helps that the two of them hardly separate long enough for him to forget, but it’s been an effort on his part to say the least.

He knows to give Dean time to type, that his boyfriend loves holding his hand and surprise kisses bring such a sweet smile to the younger teen’s face. Hearing Sam recite poetry is more intimate to the two of them than touching, and cars and Star Wars are sacred topics.

He has Dean figured out.

Cas – Cas, not so much.

It isn’t that Sam has a problem with the teen; it’s just that he’s never had reason to talk to the guy before, and because of that Sam’s experience with autism is less than zero. Sure, Sam read up on the topic a little bit, just so that he actually knew what it was. And after a few online articles he finally had an explanation to go along with a word whose meaning had eluded him for so long.

None of that, however, meant that Sam was prepared to be with the other teen.

It wasn’t an aversion to Cas because he’s different. Sam holds nothing against him for that, Sam’s apprehension lies in the fact that he’s uncertain with himself.

Would he accidentally do or say something insensitive around the teen? Because Sam knew that if he was unfamiliar with Dean he would have accidentally invaded the teen’s personal space one too many times for Dean to feel comfortable around him. Did Cas have an aversion to people touching him? Certain words? He read somewhere that people with autism are sometimes very specific when it comes to certain tasks. The author of the article had used the word “ritualistic”. Did that mean that at dinner Sam should wait and see what Meg and Cas did before he made a move to eat or drink? Should he order something specific in case Cas didn’t like particular foods? What if he was a vegetarian and took offense to people who ate meat? What if – ?

Dean’s warm hand wrapped itself around Sam’s and tugged it off of the steering wheel.

The movement jolted Sam from his frantic thoughts and he spared a glance to Dean’s face from the road before him. The younger teen simply held Sam’s right hand between his own, cradled on his lap as he contentedly looked out the passenger window.

Sam’s heart slowed down from its hurried pace, and he hadn’t even realized that it had begun pounding until it started to stop.

He let out a breath and turned back to the road and Dean started trailing his fingers over the underside of Sam’s wrist. The touch was soothing, just over Sam’s pulse point, and it forced him to become – and stay – calm.

Sam wasn’t sure if Dean was just being his regular sweet self, or if he had caught onto the fact that Sam was working himself up. Either way, Sam was extremely grateful to his boyfriend in that moment.

A few minutes later found them pulling into the driveway of a fairly affluent suburb. The houses in the neighborhood were the manorly kind, covered in unnecessary roofing, expensive faux rock facades, and hand laid brick driveways. When Sam put the car in park he spied Meg’s car pulled off to the side underneath of a basketball post which appeared to have been last used when Sam was still in Elementary school.

The two got out of the car and their hands naturally linked as they walked up to the front door, where a sticky note dictated “we’re in back”. So Sam shrugged and led the way around the house to the back.

Attached to the back of the house was an elaborate porch which fit in nicely with the style of the house. Complex, multi-tiered, and covered in superficial decorations. It said “welcome” and “don’t touch the furniture” all at once.

On the deck, sprawled out over a built in bench and – clearly ignoring the command that the porch gives off – flipping through a magazine listening to her iPod is Meg. They make their way up to the teen and she pulls a bud out of her ear to greet them.

“Well, hello boys,” comes her silky smooth voice as she ditches the magazine and sits up proper to address them.

“Hey Meg,” Sam replies while Dean offers a wave, “you guys ready to go?” he’s unsure, as he can’t see Cas anywhere…

“Sure, let me just grab Clarence,” she says, pushing herself off the cushioned bench seat and nodding her head toward the back of the yard.

Sam follows her eyes as Dean’s hand slips out of his.

Sam looks to the back of the yard. The grass outline of the Novak’s backyard is much larger than he expected it would be and ends in a decent sized shed which is tucked into a corner among some evergreen trees. There he spies Cas holding what looks like a watering can as he toys with a few boxes which are attached to the side of the shed.

“What’s he doing?”

Meg rolls her eyes and sighs, not in a rude gesture, but in what Sam easily recognizes as a loving one. “Cassie has an obsession with _bees_. He’s always liked bugs, but a few years back he got a hold of a bee documentary and he’s been a groupie ever since.”

Sam grunts in acknowledgement and allows Meg to collect Cas as he turns his attention back to Dean. The younger teen is sitting on the cushion that Meg has just vacated and has one of the ear buds in, the iPod in his hand.

He’s listening to one song while visibly scrolling through Meg’s playlist of songs.

“You approve?”

Dean catches Sam’s eye before he looks back down to the screen. “S’not bad.”

Sam huffs a laugh and turns back to Meg and Cas.

Cas is walking over with a large smile on his face once he spies Sam and Dean on the porch.

“Hey Cas,” Sam greets him, “how are your bees doing?”

The messy haired teen smiled and said something that sounded high pitched and happy, so Sam took it as a good sign.

“Cool. So you guys ready to go?”

He was anxious to get the evening started, once they had an activity going it would be easier for Sam and Cas to talk, and then it would be that much easier to get to know the person who has quickly become Dean’s second friend at the school. Sam was confident that he would like Cas; cause if Dean did, then it was likely that Sam would too.

“Yeah, let me just grab my purse from inside.” Meg pushed Cas to sit next to Dean on the bench where Dean had his tablet out already and a prompt already typed out.

_“Cas, where’re your parents?”_

The dark haired teen was already squirming on the seat – Sam had noticed him doing it whenever he went to Mrs. Shorts’ room to pick Dean up for lunch, he was curious for the reason behind it – as he reached for Dean’s tablet.

Cas was making sounds as he typed, and to be honest it sounded like singing, Cas always seemed so happy and that made Sam want to smile every time he was around him.

_“Work. They’re pilots.”_

“Huh, that explains the house,” Sam mumbled, watching the two friends interact.

Dean merely nodded and looked on as Cas brought up the chess app on Dean’s tablet and made the first move. Cas seemed expectant that Dean would play, and after shooting Sam an accepting smile he took the tablet from Cas and started to play.

Meg came out then and saw the two boys playing. “Cas, what did we talk about earlier? No chess tonight. This is a date Clarence. I need you free to be arm candy, Sugar.”

She took the tablet from Dean and exited out of the game before handing it back.

Cas shot out protests immediately, his seemingly permanent smile slipping from his face.

“Cas,” Meg says in a warning tone as she kneels before the teen and grips Cas’ hands. “I will let you play with Dean while we are in the car. But _only_ while we are in the car. I know Dean is your chess buddy, but he wants to be with Sam tonightas much as I want to be with you. Alright?”

Cas looks grumpy, but he says something which sounds like “alright,” so Sam knows his sunny disposition will return.

_“Ready?”_ Dean asked.

“Ready.”

Sam reached out for Dean’s hand and started walking back around the house while Meg slipped an arm around Cas’ waist. He couldn’t help but glance over at the two teens as the four of them walked. Meg was very clearly comfortable with wrapping herself around Cas, but Cas didn’t seem to know what to do with his arm which hung over Meg’s shoulder.

It wasn’t until Meg grabbed Cas’ hand with her free arm, and she pressed a kiss to his knuckles that Sam saw a look of happy contentedness pass over his face before he looked away.

**

The first stop for their double date was dinner. Seeing as there were two couples and two activities planned Sam and Meg had talked about splitting who made the decision for what, which basically turned into Dean picking the restaurant and Cas picking the movie. 

Dean – being Dean – picked a small diner in town which offered a triple bacon cheeseburger listed on their specials menu. Sam knew that it was highly unlikely that Dean would finish the burger should Dean order it, but if that's what Dean wanted then Sam wasn't going to say otherwise. 

The movie choice had been all Cas, and – much to Sam's surprise – his choice had been a newly released action movie that boasted guns, weapons, car chases and a barely-there plot. But Cas was adamant, so everyone accepted. 

Sam had been nervous on the way to the diner, that much was obvious. He was so worried about saying something offensive to Cas that he didn't speak at all, which was completely off character for him. 

Dean had soothed Sam's nerves by reaching over and rubbing his hand over Sam's thigh as he passed his tablet back and forth to Cas. 

Sam had shared a knowing look with Meg in the rearview mirror. Judging from the muffled giggles by Dean and Cas’ large grin and happy humming sound their two boys were likely talking about one of them, and if Dean's guilty looks and apologetic smiles were anything to go by it was probably him.

Their stop for dinner was nearly unmentionable with how uneventful it was. 

They had sat at a booth as per Dean's request and Sam had spring for some mozzarella stick appetizers. Meg had been quick to scoop up a separate amount of the dipping sauce for Cas which she nonchalantly held for him as they shared in some light discussion. 

Sam couldn't help but stare at the small plate of marinara held in Meg's hand from which Cas was scooping. He was trying to figure out why Meg was doing it until someone answered his question. 

“He doesn't like it when his food gets dipped in the same thing as everyone else's,” came Meg’s soft voice. 

Sam's cheeks had heated when he realized the three other teens had been staying at him. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare, I'm just curious and forgetting my manners. 

Meg started to say something when she noticed Cas' fingers typing and she cut off. It was strange how already in Sam's life the sight of someone typing meant the same thing as someone interrupting a conversation. 

_“Sam I know you're curious. Your questions won't offend me, I can handle explaining myself. Don't feel so self-conscious around me. I don't want to make you nervous, I just want to be your friend, and friends are supposed to be comfortable around each other.”_

Cas’ honest words helped Sam to calm down. He was right, if he was going to be friends with Cas he couldn't allow himself to freak out every time they hung out. 

With the blush finally fading from his face Sam was able to take a deep breath and enjoy talking to Cas for once as opposed to feeling the constant worry that he was about to accidentally offend the teen. 

Now that Sam was no longer a blundering mess the two couples were able to enjoy quite the nice meal. 

“So Dean,” Meg starts around a French fry. “Cassie tells me you've joined the cross country team.”

Dean nods though it wasn't a question.

“What exactly is the motivation behind running around in sweaty circles?”

Sam watches a cheeky grin break out over Dean's face as he types a response. 

_“Have you seen Sam when he's all sweaty? What more motivation do I need?”_

That comment made the three other teens laugh. And before they knew it Cas was responding with a _“So if Sam stands at the finish line without a shirt on does that mean we'll start winning cross country meets?”_

_“Oh hell yeah.”_

**

Dean wasn't sure about this movie. 

Dinner had gone really well. Sam had finally lost the tension that he got all could up with whenever he was around Cas, and once that happened Sam was able to relax and talk freely with not just Meg, but Cas as well. 

Speaking of the other couple, they were sitting on Sam's other side in the movie theatre. Cas was right next to Sam – as he had wanted to play Sam in a game of chess until the lights went out and the movie had started, Dean had been amused at just how bad Sam was – and Meg was curled up on Cas’ other side. 

She had her arms wrapped around Cas’ left, and her head was resting on his shoulder as the movie played out on screen. Cas was doing his regular thing of acknowledging the fact that Meg was curled up with him, but not doing anything in return. However, he was also doing his happy glowy thing that he only ever did when Meg was being affectionate with him.

Dean smiled, happy for his new friends and the fact that sunshine was part of his life and could bring him happiness. 

He sat back his chair and felt his breath choke up in his throat as he took in the images on screen. For as sweet and kitten-cuddly as Cas looked he sure had a dark taste in movies. At first Dean thought it was going to be a regular action flick, one of the ones where the bad guy takes some hostages and holds them prisoner as the good guy fights against the odds to save them. What Dean hadn't been prepared for was the scenes where one of the bad guys was seen tying up and abusing one of the girls being held. 

It started of as little things. Tied wrists. Tied ankles. A gag… a blindfold. 

Dean was holding himself together pretty well by remembering his breathing exercises, but Dean wished Sam would call his bluff and help him escape the movie. To his credit Sam had checked when they realized the movie was a little more violent than expected, but Dean had been quick to reassure him. Meg and Cas had looked so comfortable in their seats, but Dean had convinced him that the movie was fine. 

Dean thought he was going to be okay, but when the movie suddenly cut to the villain throwing the bound and helpless girl on a bed as she shrieked in fear – granted she was completely clothed – Dean couldn't take it. 

Dean bolted from the theatre, tripping over people's legs who were sitting in the row and ignoring the curses and angry states that followed him. 

He flew through the doors to the theatre and ran down the hallway and through an emergency exit that led to the parking lot. Dean kept running, ignoring the hot tears that were running down his face and he didn't stop until he was between two cars in the parking lot, dropping to his knees before he crawled and curled up with his back to one of the rear tires. 

His heart rate and breathing were sky rocketing, and it wasn't due to his running escapade. He felt himself kidding his resolve and he felt flashes of his own personal abuse crossing his mind. 

Dean pressed his hands over his ears in some pathetic attempt to block something out. The sound of quick and heavy thudding reached his ears over his teaching heart beat, and Dean had to swallow back the sour bile that risked escaping. 

Familiar hands rubbed over Dean's arms and shoulders and he opened his eyes which had been squeezed shut to reveal Sam crouching before him. 

“Dean, you're okay.”

Was he? 

“I'm here, it's going to be okay. I've got you.”

He did? 

Dean felt hands covering his own. 

“Give me your hands baby.”

Dean relaxed his grip over his own head and felt Sam's warm hands holding his own. 

“That's it, that's it Dean. Just deep even breaths, okay?”

Dean nodded weakly and shut his eyes again as Sam sat next to him and tugged Dean's head over to his chest. 

Sam rubbed his hands over every part of Dean he could reach and soon Dean felt himself calming down and crashing. Panic attacks left him feeling drained and very sleepy afterwards. 

“I thought you said you were okay,” Sam whispered in his ear. And it didn't come out as anger in Dean keeping silent over his fears, it was guilt over Sam not noticing that Dean hadn't been okay. 

“S-ss-sor-ry,” Dean was able to get out. He was still a little shaky and had a suspicious feeling that if he sat up at the moment he might be reacquainted with the burger he had ordered at the diner.

“It's okay Dean. You didn't do anything wrong.”

But that didn't keep Dean from feeling a flush of guilt at how he had ruined the movie. 

“Mo-movvie. Me-meg a-an Cass –“

“They're fine. I told them to meet us at the car.”

Dean nodded and rubbed his face against Sam's chest as a few tears rolled out. Sam could say what he wanted, Dean know he ruined the movie for everyone. 

“C'mon baby,” Sam tugged Dean until he was sitting up straight before he hauled the two of them to their feet. Dean stumbled a little bit, but with Sam's help quickly found his footing. 

They walked back to Sam's car and found Meg and Cas waiting for them. Meg was sitting in the passenger seat and Cas was in back so Sam made sure Dean was settled and buckled before he closed his door. 

Cas had his tablet out and the piano app pulled up, he held it out for Dean to see and at Dean's shaky nod Cas pulled it back and started playing softly at the keys. Dean recognized ' Stairway to Heaven’ by Zeppelin and appreciated the fact that Cas had likely listened to the doing on his own so he could show it to Dean as Dean had never had the teen listen to it before and Dean knew it wasn't the kind of music Cas typically listened to. 

It was such a kind gesture that made Dean feel warm and cared for and helped to edge away some of the panic that had been roiling in Dean's gut. 

He let his head rest on the back of the seat and spied Meg and Sam in the front seat sharing a few whispered words. He saw Sam nod his head once before he turned around to look at the two trends in the back seat. 

“Hey guys, we – Cas are you playing Stairway?”

Cas nodded. 

“Nice! So Meg had an idea for something we could do next, but it's a surprise. Are you guys up for one more activity?”

Dean wasn't sure, but he trusted Sam to not make him do anything that would cause Dean to feel discomfort. He nodded and took a deep relaxing breath to prove he was okay. 

He was a little drained after everything, so he let his head fall to the window and closed his eyes, determined to rest for a little bit before they got wherever they were going. 

Dean didn't fall asleep while Sam was driving, but he definitely lost track of time. It felt like only a few minutes had passed before Sam was cracking the door and holding Dean's shoulder to prop him up. 

“Dean, you okay?”

Dean nodded. He was too tired to try struggling his way through the words so he just let Sam assume what he will. 

“Here, Cas grabbed your tablet for you from the movie theater,” Sam pressed the tablet into Dean's hand and Dean grabbed it as he stepped out of the car. He didn't recognize where they were – which wasn't all that hard to believe, he wasn't all that familiar with much of the town past where he had been with Sam. 

He shot eyes at Sam and his boyfriend heard his question. 

“It's a skate rink,” Sam said grabbing his hand and touring him toward a door where the other couple waited for them. “It was Meg's idea. She figured you'd like an activity that allowed you to get up and move around.”

Dean nodded, his eyes focused on the ground. He still felt guilty that the movie has ad been called off because of him. 

His thumb rubbed nervously at the back of Sam's hand and the older teen pulled him close to kiss his temple. 

Sam didn't have to say what he was thinking, Dean could interpret Sam as well. Sam was saying it wasn't guys fault, and that there was nothing to feel bad for, but it couldn't change the fact that Dean _did_ feel bad. 

Dean couldn't make eye contact with the other teens as they walked into the building, but when Sam walked up to the ticket counter to enter the skate rink Dean slipped the extra twenty that Bobby had given him to pay for the skates. It was the least he could do since he had cut the movie short. 

Dean was getting the change back and pocketing it before Sam even had the chance to pull his wallet out.

They passed out the tickets so they could pick up their skates and Dean quickly typed out his explanation in the tablet, letting Sam knew that the money wasn't his and had come from Bobby. 

Dean cast a nervous glance about the skate rink to get a feel for the atmosphere. The paint and décor seemed too be from an early nineties music video, with the neon graffiti paint on the walls, neon gas lights that displayed a pair of retro skates. Outside of the rink the carpet was a faded solar system pattern and in the small space left over was a concession area and a small arcade. 

The while place screamed outdated and seemed in desperate need of a health inspection, but the tables by the concession area and the skate rink was filled with tweenagers and older couples who were very clearly on cheesy date night. So he didn't feel to threatened. 

When it was his and Sam's turn he allowed Sam to grab his skates. Somehow Sam knew his show size and knew to get Dean the retro two by two skates with the bumper at the toe while Sam cockily got himself the inline blades. Sam shot him a grin with his dimples on display and Dean had to roll his eyes. Sam looked to think that he was a crazy daredevil with his actions. Dean knew he was just a giant dork though. 

They followed Meg and Cas over too a table where Meg was trying to get Cas’ feet into a pair of skates Dean had never seen before. It looked like just the plastic shell of a skate with straps to tighten it over the teen’s shoe. 

“C'mon Clarence. If you aren't going to take off your shoes these are the skates you're going to wear. 

Cas made a grumbled noise that ended in a shriek and captured the attention of a few of the people during at nearby tables. 

“I thought you said you wanted to share?”

Cas frowned. 

“Alright. I won’t put your skates on. But if you get upset later that you missed out on skating I don't want to hear you complaining.”

Dean couldn't help but smile as she pulled Cas' tablet from her purse and handed it over to the teen who hummed happily and pulled up the ever constant chess app. 

“Would it kill you to try something new?”

Cas simply ignored her and starred playing a game against himself. 

“Why do I love you so much, you big nerd?”

Dean could see a shy smile curl Cas’ lips and he had to smile at seeing his friends so happy. 

His attention was distracted from Cas when he felt Sam's fingers curl around his ankle. Sam forced Dean to pivot on the bench and brought Dean's foot into his lap. 

“Making me feel all jealous with how you're starting at Cas there Dean.”

Dean smiled and watched as Sam removed his shoes and put on his skates. 

“Let me know if this is too tight,” Sam said softly as he began doing up the laces. Dean didn't say anything, just watched Sam's long fingers work. When the skate was on the one foot Sam leaned over and picked up his other foot. Sam slipped two of his fingers up the leg of Dean's pants and pressed them gently against the soft skin under the jut of his round ankle bone. 

It was such a small touch, but one that was so grounding and intimate that any lingering tension that was roiling within Dean left as Sam slipped Dean's second skate.

With the second skate on Sam stood up and held a hand out for him. Dean cast a look to Cas who was busy wiggling around on the bench and staying at his tablet as he considered his next move as he played against himself. Meg was already making loops around the rink and she seemed confident that Cas was okay by himself – not that Dean was worried that he needed supervision, he was more or less concerned that Cas would want company and feel left out – so he accepted Sam's hand and allowed his boyfriend to tow him into the rink. 

Dean hadn't been on skates since he was eight and he tried to jump off of a speed bump that was down the street from their house. The faded scars on his knees from that incident spoke to how well that particular activity had played out. 

“C'mon, I won't left you fall,” Sam said with a smile. 

Dean couldn't keep the smile from his face. Sam really was smooth on his skates, while Dean was wobbling around like a new born colt. They stepped out onto the wood rink and Sam turned so that he could take both of his hands and tug him along as he skated backwards. 

Dean's knees were a little unsteady and he dipped down a bit as Sam pulled him along, but Sam was keeping his word and wasn't about to let Dean fall. 

After a few loops Sam felt confident in letting him go. Dean didn't share in Sam's opinion. 

“It'll be okay, if you start to fall I'll catch you.”

Dean didn't let up on Sam's wrists, and in fact tightened his grip. 

“Please? For me?”

Dean shook his head. He wasn't about to trip and fall on his ass in public. 

Sam brought his face close and pressed his lips to Dean's ear. “I'll give you something later if you do.”

Sam pulled away to see Dean quirk his eyebrow in question, and Sam answered by flicking his eyes down to Dean's crotch. A blowjob to try one lap? Seems reasonable. 

With that Dean promptly let go of San and pushed off. Confident in his skating with a large smirk on his face right up until his skates shot out from beneath him and he landed on his ass. Hard.  
“Oh! Dean!”

Sam skated up to him, his heels pressed together as he skated in a fancy semi-circle as he helped scoop Dean up, a smile in place on the smarmy dick's face. 

“For what it's worth you were doing great up until you biffed it.”

Dean swatted at Sam's thigh as the older teen wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and skated behind him. There was no real heat in it though, he wasn't mad. How could he be when Sam was always there to push him into new and fun things. Well, that and Dean couldn't possibly be upset when there was an impending blowjob in the future.

On their next revolution the DJ started up a new song and Dean felt more than heard the breathy “yes” that Sam whispered.

It was ‘Sugar’ by Maroon 5, and apparently Sam was a fan.

“Your SUUUGAAR!”

“Yes PLEEAASSE!”

“Won’t you come and put it DOWN ON MEEE!”

Sam’s singing was just awful. Really fucking awful. And Dean couldn’t help the laughs that escaped him as Sam’s tone deaf voice reverberated about the building. He could see a few of the other couples shooting looks in their direction, and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Sam was being totally ridiculous.

And Dean loved it.

He felt Sam’s nose nuzzling at his hairline behind his ear and soon Sam’s sultry growl was in his ear.

“I want that red velvet,  
I want that sugar sweet,  
Don’t let nobody touch it  
Unless that Someone’s me,  
I gotta be your MAan  
There ain’t no other way  
Cause boy you’re hotter than a southern California day,  
I don’t wanna play no games,  
You don’t gotta be afraid,  
Don’t give me all that shy shit  
No makeup on  
That’s my –,” Sam’s nose left Dean’s neck in time just for the high pitched “SUUUGAAAR!” that came out of the older teen’s mouth.

It was just as they were passing by the concession area that overlooked the rink too, and Dean saw Meg holding a thumbs up. Dean could feel his cheeks heat up as he covered his eyes with one hand.

God his boyfriend was such a dork. 

Fortunately for Dean the song came to an end and he was able to granny-walk his way back to the table where Meg and Cas were without embarrassing himself further. People were already looking at their group weird – and oddly enough it was all because of Sam and not the fact that they were boasting an autistic teen and a teen with PTSD and selective mutism.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt so normal.

Unfortunately for them they had made it to the skate rink late, and the DJ was making a call for one last song.

“C’mon Clarence, I’ve been wanting to hold your hand all night, now move your ass onto the floor before I smack it,” Meg was hauling Cas to his feet and stowing the tablet into her purse as she dragged Cas behind her – much like Sam had done to Dean earlier.

“You’re lucky I let you play that damn chess game, now let’s go.”

Cas looked mildly irritated with her, but from his happy hums as he glided across the floor Dean knew that he was still enjoying himself.

The two couples got a little sappy for the last song. It was ‘Honey I’m Good’ by Andy Grammer, another stupidly catchy pop song that Sam sang along to – horribly – and Meg came in with the occasional word. Dean mouthed the parts he knew, but he was too focused on trying to keep his feet under him to do much else. As Meg and Cas and he and Sam had all gone out holding hands with each other it took nothing for Dean to grab Cas’ free hand and for them to become a four person chain looping about the rink.

Cas stared at his hand in Dean’s as if it was a novelty, and Dean was a little worried that Cas wasn’t going to be okay with it – Cas wasn’t a very tactile person – but when the other teen simply looked up and continued to skate as if nothing had happened, Dean figured it was okay.

*****

Dean was sad to see the night end.

He had been looking forward to the double date all week, and now that it was over he wanted to relive every single part of it over again, including the panic attack because of the movie since it led to their wonderful time at the skate rink.

After dropping Meg and Cas off at Cas’ house – where Meg claimed she was too tired to drive home and was going to spend the night with Cas – they headed home, and it was then that Dean realized just how upset he was.

He wasn’t sure if a perfect night like that would ever happen again. And how could they have gotten so lucky? With him and Cas in public together he had been positive that _something_ would have gone wrong – panic attack aside – his biggest fear had been being ostracized from the group of “regular” people enjoying their Saturday night. But nothing had happened.

Dean hadn’t realized that a few tears had slipped out until Sam was thumbing them away.

“You okay?” came his soft question.

Dean nodded quickly and used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes.

“It was a pretty awesome night,” Sam announced quietly, his eyes never leaving the road. “We’ll have to do that again. Maybe stay at the skate rink. We could invite a few of the cross country guys; Charlie, Jess, Garth. What do you think?”

Dean smiled despite his wet eyes. How was it that with a few simple words Sam could dispel all of Dean’s churning emotions and fears?

“Th-that s-sounds nice.”

Sam reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand. “Then consider it done.”

They were silent the rest of the way home.

 

Dean was quiet as he snuck into his house. Sam was running across the street to grab some fresh clothes to replenish the supply that had somehow made its way into Dean’s dresser, and would be back in a few minutes. So Dean went to the kitchen and grabbed a large glass of water. Sam sometimes woke up thirsty in the middle of the night like himself, so Dean and he had started sharing a glass of water.

It was always so sweet for Dean to – in the middle of his day – think back to two o’clock in the morning when Sam would have shifted around in bed and reached across Dean to grab the glass and take a few chugs before putting it back and placing a soft kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, worried that he’d wake Dean up.

Sam never seemed to realize that it was Dean’s waking up for a drink that woke Sam up. And it always made Dean feel warm to his core to think that Sam shows him such kindness and love even when he believes Dean to be asleep.

He’s just coming to the bottom of the stairs when Sam lets himself in the front door, duffle bag in hand.

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah.”

They ‘whisper’ to each other.

“Well c’mon then,” Sam grabs his hand and leads him upstairs, “I owe my boyfriend a blowjob.”

Dean takes it back. _Now_ it’s the perfect Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btdubs.
> 
> My computer went caputs at the start of the summer. I've been writing from my phone (no way!) Yes way! And fixing errors on this sucker is a bitch. I try my best but sometimes they slip through as I don't have spell check to help me out anymore :( That, and my phone likes to autocorrect sometimes and the words change.
> 
> So sorry about those


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